In a Strange Land
by athenalaughed
Summary: What would happen if a Muggle (OC) ended up at Hogwarts? Story includes Harry and Co., with special attention to Snape. Because he's special. Rated M for language and sexual situations. More chapters soon!
1. Fancy Meeting You Here

Anything in here that even remotely resembles a creation of JK Rowling is just that—all hers. I get no money from this, just jollies and good old fashioned procrastination.

Logicians have but ill defined  
As rational the human mind.  
Logic, they say, belongs to man,  
But let them prove it if they can.

-Oliver Goldsmith

* * *

Chapter 1: Fancy Meeting You Here 

"Miss? Miss? Are you okay!"

A quavering voice broke through the jumbled haze of color and pain wrapping itself around the young woman. She winced open an eye cautiously to find herself looking into the concerned face of a gangly teenage boy. While it was possible he might yet become a relatively attractive man, it was sadly evident that he hadn't quite grown into his body. He hunched over her on the floor of the station in such a way that suggested he was apologizing for his presence.

–It figures…— She thought, –Kids.— It skittered through her mind dismissively.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there! My toad, he was jumping, and—Trevor? Oh, no!" The boy backed away sharply, tossing his head around like a wild horse. A flash of green caught his eye. "THERE you are!" He lunged for the creature, catching it mid-leap—and promptly tripped and fell on his robes.

–Robes?— She wondered. –Strange…—

Turning around, he brushed himself off and placed his toad in a large pocket, which he carefully, firmly, buttoned. The boy walked back towards her, and sheepishly offered her a hand. "Name's Neville, Neville Longbottom, and really, I'm sorry about the cart. These things seem to find me on their own, really." He sighed, his face flushed, and shook his head. "Are you okay?" he asked again, nearly losing his grip on her as she steadied on her feet.

–Okay…?— Her vision was now focused, but her mind hadn't quite joined it. "What just happened?"

"Oh, umm. Well, Trevor, see, he was scared by the train going by and—"

The train. The mental fog was lifting, which cleared more room for the recognition of pain and nausea. Neither of these interrupted the memory of the train pulling into the terminal. Listening to the screech of brakes on metal, thinking that trains can only stop so fast, and—

"And I couldn't stop in time, and I'm so sorry I knocked you down. You won't hex me, will you?" Here the boy looked so genuinely nervous, and sad, and—oh, dear, ranging dangerously near pathetic. She couldn't help a soft chuckle, which was rewarded when his pained expression cleared into one of relief. "Oh, thank you, miss! I'll be more careful, really!" He made an off balance half bow and trotted off behind his cart. Possibly before she could change her mind. She noticed that other people were giving him a rather wide berth.

Rubbing her cheek, she brushed off some of the dirt she had collected in her fall and looked around for her bag. Ruefully glancing down at the ridiculously proper clothes she wore today, she began to dust them off. –All in black, and of course it'd be light coloured dirt I'd fall into. That's sort of an unwritten rule, isn't it?– She snorted in derision.

While initial confusion had kept her from noticing much more than the rather bumbling boy and his toad, his absence freed her to consider the surroundings. The platform looked different, cleaner, and while there were certainly many people, they didn't look quite the same. –Robes— she realized. –They're all in robes? Well, not all…but most of them.—

Adults and children were bustling around, talking excitedly and trailing rather elegant capes behind them. Some of them positively shimmered, casting a favourable glow about their owners. –Must be some sort of convention they're off to,— she decided, turning to look for the train that had been arriving just as her backside served for target practice. She wasn't known for her ability to suffer fools, and today she would have predicted a swift death for anyone who crossed her path, never mind one who sent her flying off of it. But she had a soft spot for children, even adolescent ones, and there had been a real sincerity about the boy that had caused her to sympathize with him. None of this made her head and ribs hurt any less, though, and her aching body was not doing much to improve her mood. Or help her figure out where the blast her train had gone. –Has it already left?—

Glancing down at her watch, she noticed with irritation that the watch face had cracked and its hands had stopped moving. –Damn, damn and damn again— she cursed. Not because she was particularly fond of the watch, or even because it was exceptionally valuable. Just that lately, this seemed to be the way of things, and her reserves were running low. It didn't take much to –no, I am not about to cry— she scolded herself, sharply. –Stupid, stupid stupid…it was here just a minute ago. And what you see one minute can't cease to exist the next. So where in damnation is it?—

Somehow, anger has a way of focusing the mind in a way that kindness and comfort cannot. It was anger that convinced her she had gotten herself terribly turned about following her tango with a rapidly moving object, and anger that convinced her that something was distinctly Not Right. That, dear reader, is when another train arrived.

A rumble shook upwards from the ground, filling the air. Roaring noise and spewing smoke, the polished machine rounded its turn into the station. She closed her eyes against the abruptness of iron wheels hammering rail-joints, listening as the rhythm slowed and a final, deliberate whoosh sighed out of the new arrival. A murmur went up from the people around her, and parents turned to children, some with brisk hugs and terse instructions, and some with longer, warmer embraces.

"Now, Ron, don't you get any ideas about any trouble under ANY circumstances," a red headed woman was scolding her equally red haired son. "I've had enough grief and mayhem for centuries thanks to your brothers, and if you get yourself kicked out of school you can count on a Howler a day for the next 30 years of your life—do I make myself PERFECTLY clear!" She glared at the skinny boy in front of her, who seemed to accept his mother's threats in good form.

"Yes, mum, of course mum," he nodded, as he struggled with his large trunk. Saira turned away as he muttered "_Adlevatio trunk_," and, when she looked back their way again, the trunk he had been carrying was nowhere in sight. –He must have gotten it onto the train, or someone else is carrying it— she dismissed, neglecting to notice the large container that was now hovering a generous 6 feet in the air.

–School. Well, that makes more sense. It explains all the kids, anyways. I wonder what academy they go to.— She thought about her own school days, of which there had been more than absolutely necessary. –And what good did it do me? I didn't need it to find work.— The gloom that had been dashed away by physical pain began to settle around her again, a nearly tangible weight to the darkness of it.

Strangely, there was a real shadow passing across her face at that moment, one that had nothing to do with her mood. Looking up, she watched the trunk the red headed boy had struggled with, as it passed over her to head onto the train. She was weary and confused to the point of needing to ignore what her eyes were telling her. It couldn't be happening, and so it must not be happening. It was just a simple mis-seeing of things, secondary to the trauma of her fall.

Desperation tinged her confusion as she stood on the platform. –I don't want to go home—, she realized. –There's nothing for me there, and I certainly don't want to face the frozen lasagnas and cards from people I don't much like. But what, then? I suppose I have enough saved to afford to not go back, not right away. I could live on credit for a bit. Pay off the bills online. Avoid phones. Hmm.—

And at that moment, a bedraggled, exhausted, and world weary Saira Hansen made her second completely ludicrous decision of the day. When the train pulled away, she was on it.

* * *

It had happened much in the way of a dream, and as she sat staring out the window, she was managing to convince herself it was just that. This past week, in fact, was nothing more than fantasy, which explained why things were so muddled right now. She sighed. –All right, no, I know that's not true. I know this week has happened, and made a notably crappy run of itself. But right now...I should be in a much worse state. Maybe I am. The last thing I saw was that train, and I was moving so fast…— 

Saira, at the time Neville had careened into her, was in the process of making her first ludicrous decision of the day. Bag firmly in hand, she was greeting her train in a rather unconventional fashion: while it was still moving, and a bit further up the track than is commonly recommended. As she'd made her second, or was it third, running step towards it, a fast moving, heavy metal cart had caught her at an unexpected angle. Physics being what it is, she ended up being propelled by the cart. Directly towards a brick wall.

–I do remember—. Her eyes narrowed. –The boy yelled something…it might have been 'look out,' and there was the cart, and the wall. I hit the wall. Oh god. I'm unconscious.— Visions flashed through her head, of blood, ambulances, and hospitals. They were rather mundane visions that often graced the telly, where solemn faced detectives tacked up Crime Scene warnings with grim expressions.

–So that's why everything looks so strange. Is so strange. The robes, and floating trunks, and people and…I'm unconscious. It's a dream. Now...how do I wake up?—

Ironically, though she was wondering how she might wake up, it didn't take her long to fall asleep.


	2. Welcoming Committee

What is reality?  
I am a plaster doll; I pose  
with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall  
upon some shellacked and grinning person,  
eyes that open, blue, steel, and close.

-Anne Sexton

Chapter 2: Welcoming Committee

"What, pray tell, do you presume to be doing?" The voice shot through her, and she froze. At 27, it had been years since anyone had been able to make her feel like a guilty child. And now, in her strange dream, she was confronted with that very sensation.

In only a few powerful strides, the man overtook her. "Who are you?" He demanded, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her around to face him.

"I, er…Saira. Saira Hansen." Her voice grew stronger on the second phrase, and she began to pretend she was addressing a particularly lazy employee at the shop. Every batch of new hires needed to be broken in a bit, and she hadn't wanted her brother to threaten them into accepting a woman. She was more than pleased to do it herself.

"Precisely why are you here?" came the hissing inquisition, as he leaned into her face menacingly. His jet black hair hung in lanky stripes across his face, which was cut deeply with lines of mistrust and anger. He was pale in the fashion of an academic, making his dark eyes loom more prominently in his face than they might have otherwise. He towered over her, black robes immaculate and intimidating. The many buttons trailing up his chest were small and fabric covered, and Saira found herself wondering how long it took him to button them all. And how long it might take to unbutton them. She shook the untimely thought from her mind.

"I don't see that it's any of your business." Her voice was level, and she met his glare with her chin up, watching his eyes narrow.

"Come with me," he said abruptly. "And, are you going to hand me your wand…or shall I take it?" His voice was low and sinuous, his gaze penetrating. Saira might have appreciated this as somewhat enticing, had she not been so thrown off by this new request.

"My what?" The muscles on her face rallied to express the fact that, in every conceivable way, she thought he was nuts.

"_Accio wand_!" He commanded, flourishing a dark stick. –A wand. It's not a stick, it's a bloody wand.— Saira was stunned. –I have the strangest subconscious. This is my subconscious, right?—

The man started. Nothing had happened. Which could mean only one thing. There was no possibility he had misspoken, something between talent and arrogance would never allow for that. And, he mused, there had been no evident counterspell. No, it was simply and complexly that she didn't have a wand. Who was this bloody bitch showing up in the mess of students with no wand and nothing to say for herself? He was incredibly displeased, and this _Saira_ was about to experience the receiving end of his mood.

"You will follow me. If you step either to the right or to left of where I lead, you will experience the most excruciating pain. I believe I make myself clear," he growled, glaring at her before beginning a brisk walk along a path worn smooth by frequent travel. –Oh gods— she realized. –We're going towards a castle!—

–We. Crap, what am I going to do with Mr. Friendly over here?— She followed him into the dusky evening with rapid strides, forgetting that she'd had no intention of leaving the train depot. Still, there was no way she was going to be bullied into trotting after a stranger without any explanation. –Is he a police officer? What's that bit about the wand? And what castle is this?— She wracked her brain for a logical turn to this scenario. Never one for the over analyses of psychology, she wondered how much of this could possibly be due to her subconscious on overdrive. –After all, how do you imagine a world outside what you know? This is not what I would call my frame of reference…—

When the train had stopped with its customary screech and lurch, she'd been woken from a sleep of many hours—the first good sleep she'd gotten in many days. Picking her dark hair out of her eyes, she'd attempted to shove it back into the plain braid she always wore at the nape of her neck. As she lifted her arms above her shoulders, she winced, her ribs sore where she suspected bruises were forming. She'd shaken her head, resigned, and attempted to rub the dirt out of the corners of her murky blue eyes. Men often decided she was somewhat striking, and that interested them enough to start conversation. It was the fear that they might actually be struck that ended many tête-à-têtes, and hope that they would that kept yet others around.

She wasn't necessarily violent, just direct. It had been that strength that had carried her through years of being bounced between boarding schools, to the point where she'd left academia to join her brother, Rafi, in his work as a mechanic. Petite and lean, not too many people pictured her as a grease-monkey. She hadn't known the slightest bit about it, when she'd started, but Rafi was a good teacher and she an interested pupil. Her older half brother was easily one of the most charming people she'd ever know. Kind nearly to a fault with friends, he wielded a particularly quirky wit when people crossed him.

–There was that time his band agreed to play cousin Theresa's wedding…—she hadn't be able to choke back the chuckle that emerged at the memory of 5 grown, wiry men showing up dressed in light pink tutus. –Served Theresa right for canceling their pay last minute, but expecting them to play anyway. Never mind that she was such a prig about the dress code.— The band had performed perfectly, professionally producing classical music without smearing their rouge one bit. –I wonder what it will be like for them, now that Rafi's gone.— The thought had been accompanied by a sigh.

To distract herself from where the rememorying was leading, she'd decided to investigate this stop. Perhaps there was something worth doing in whatever town she'd ended up visiting. The children were rushing about in the generalized pandemonium of youth, carrying animals, trunks, and occasionally each other off of the train. –A circus?—

she mused, noticing the owls. –Do circuses have owls? And do boarding schools have circuses?—

She was quick to notice that she wasn't, in fact, in a town. Or a city. Instead, she was in the countryside, privy to a light rain and a setting sun, and a burgeoning sense of dread. –Maybe hopping on any ol' train that suits you isn't the wisest thing to do…— As Saira walked about looking for a sign that might tell her where she had gotten herself to and where one might hail a cab, a man had accosted her. And she was not one to be accosted.

–Still, threats of bodily harm from one's subconscious manifestations bear some listening to.— She grinned. Framing this experience as some sort of coma-induced lark certainly made it more enjoyable. She hadn't entirely convinced herself on that score, but it was all too strange to lend easily to other explanations, and there was the matter of that solid brick wall. It was then that bobbing lights on the periphery drew her attention away from the path and her thoughts.

It was beautiful in the way of a German Carnival celebration. The castle overlooked a lake so large she couldn't make out the other shore, and on its surface were boats filled with robed children, each boat with a lantern to guide its way. The surface of the murky water was speckled with small ripples from the rain, further obscuring its depths. Saira squinted her eyes, trying to make sense of the scene. It seemed like, despite the smooth course the boats took across the lake, no one was rowing. "How on earth…" she muttered.

"I don't believe I instructed you to stop," came the stern threat. Her uncompanionable companion swung about and approached. "You can follow, or I can resort to…other measures." His voice was carefully measured, each syllable being granted the allowance of crossing his thin, tight lips no longer than what was grammatically appropriate.

Saira wasn't overly impressed. Not that long ago, she'd faced irate customers who had rather similar approaches to interpersonal relationships, and she'd considered it her duty to knock them off of their high horses. "Where are we going?" She asked, directly facing him and squaring off her shoulders. If it came to verbal abuse, she was adequately armed. Physical, though…and here her eyes raked across his body, assessing a lean build, nearly gaunt, that hung between broad shoulders. –Well, he does have some 25cm on me. But, I might be able to outrun him.—

A flash of annoyance compounded the wrath already present on his face. "I don't believe you're in much of a position to ask questions." He was curt, not much persuaded by her first tactic. Which meant that she should try another.

"Who the hell are you—Batman on a bad day?" she spat, and his eyes narrowed. "I have every right to know where we're going, and if you're an officer you need to identify yourself. And if not, you might consider wanking off." Her vocabulary was often influenced by Rafi's tutorage, since he considered it his supreme duty to properly equip his little sis with tools necessary for life in a difficult world.

"Suit yourself, dear lady," returned the sarcastic voice, without any evidence of ire. "_Consopio_."


	3. In One Foot and Out the Other

It is, in fact, nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry.

-Albert Einstein

Chapter 3: In One Foot and Out the Other

"A MUGGLE! Dumbledore's going to let a blasted MUGGLE teach us?"

"Calm down, Ron," Harry hissed, "You sound an awful lot like Malfoy there."

"No, it's not THAT, not like Muggles are bad, it's just—well, what is a MUGGLE going to teach us about magic? It just doesn't make sense! Is he out of his mind?"

"Now, Mr. Weasley, while Professor Trelawney assures me that astral projection is an entirely enjoyable affair, I am most inclined to remain firmly connected with all aspects of my being." Dumbledore said, not unkindly, as he rounded the corridor.

"Eep!" Ron squeaked, turning an unpleasant shade of pink. "Sir, I, er…" As destined as Neville may have been to fall over his feet, Ron was certainly meant to constantly be found with his own firmly implanted in his mouth.

"No offense taken, Mr. Weasley." Bemused blue eyes crinkled at the edges. "It is, in fact, a reasonable enough question, and one that I suspect will be asked throughout all the common rooms tonight." Dumbledore nodded, looking, as the headmaster was prone to do, more than a bit pleased with himself.

"Sir, may I ask…" Here Harry's voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what, exactly, he should ask.

"Harry," here Dumbledore grew serious. "Ron. You both are aware of the increased attacks on Muggles?"

"Yes, sir," said Ron, who had finally regained mastery over his rogue tongue. "Dad says that Death Eaters have been practicing new curses on some of them, and that it's possible He—Voldemort plans to get revenge for days when witches and wizards were burned at the stake."

"It's true, what your father says," and here Dumbledore paused, as if considering his words. "That's not the whole of it, though. Voldemort, for all his dislike of Muggles, has found them quite useful. He has made some alliances with very powerful ones, business alliances of the worst possible kind. And, while you and I know that Voldemort is likely to twist and manipulate these alliances to his profit, the Muggles he is currently recruiting do not. They do not know aboutor rather, _believe in_, magic. The actions have put a great many people in danger. Where before, it was unlikely that Muggles would be much affected by affairs of the wizarding world, their newspapers are now filled with stories of disappearances and outright murders. And often, but by no means all of the time, it's Muggles with wizards and witches in their families who are being targeted."

"Hermione—what about her parents?" Both Harry and Ron looked poised to run to their friend and tell her to owl her parents as soon as possible.

"They are being watched by the Ministry. All Muggle relatives are under some degree of surveillance and protection. Including your aunt and uncle, Harry."

Here Harry arched an eyebrow, but good manners kept him silent. It was no great secret that his family, if you could call them that, had made a committed effort to antagonize him as often and intensely as possible. Still, he wouldn't want them to end up on the wrong end of a Death Eater's wand…but, he wasn't entirely sure it was fair to inconvenience any members of the Ministry of Magic on their behalf. Then, another thought occurred to him.

"Sir, if families are under surveillance, well—how is the Ministry dealing with Voldemort?"

"Ah." Dumbledore looked almost weary, but only for the briefest moment. "The surveillance spells minimize the wizarding power necessary for the task, but it requires attention nonetheless. I suspect that Muggles are going to have a much larger role in the ongoing conflict with Voldemort than was anticipated."

"Which is why we're getting a Muggle professor?" Ron was nothing if not tenacious.

"One reason." Dumbledore could be wearing a tank top, and he would still have something up his sleeves. "I believe it will be a…useful experience, particularly for many of your schoolmates who have only a very limited exposure to Muggles."

Neither Harry nor Ron had an easy answer for that. Nor were they required to come up with one, as Dumbledore smiled serenely and nodded to them. "Good evening, both of you," he adjoined, heading towards his chambers.

"Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"One more question."

"No, I don't know why they don't have blasted mirrors set up so we might see around the bloody corners before making arses outta ourselves in front of Headmasters."

"Ah, well, you're on your own there," Harry couldn't resist the barb.

"Thanks, love," Ron responded, in a way that strongly suggested "love" was not his overriding primary sentiment.

"No, seriously, though…Dumbledore never said how he got this new professor."

"Well, Harry, he probably put out some sort of advertisement, and hired her right proper."

"But she took the train with us."

"Oh." Ron paused, puzzled. "How did she manage to get onto the platform, then?"

"I don't know. But I know who will." And with that, the two of them set off to find Hermione Granger.


	4. Bubble, Bubble

"Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life."

-Mark Twain

Chapter 4: Bubble, Bubble…

The Griffyndor common room was abuzz with noise and activity following the evening's Sorting. First years were intent on making friends and gathering advice from older students, some of more useful than others.

"And so, you might not want to bring your pet rat about if McGonagall is in a ripe mood, likely she is to transfigure and gulp it straight down!"

"Seamus!" Harry couldn't keep the scolding tone out of his voice.

"Er, 'ello 'arry, top of the morning to you and all that." Seamus Finnegan grinned broadly, winking at the owl eyed first year who clung to her rat protectively with one hand and adroitly twirled her wand with the other. "I was jus' making nice with the new bunch."

"I bet you are," said Ron, as he sized up the rat. Ever since his own had turned out to be an errant Death Eater, he was vaguely mistrustful of creatures with hairless tails. This rat, however, was young and glossy, and seemed to have all toes firmly attached. For now.

"Seamus, any idea where 'Mione might be?" asked Harry, who had decided that the first year was likely tough enough to face off Seamus on her own, and might even prove to be his match. He'd last seen that particular squaring off of jaw on Ron's sister, Ginny, and knew a strong will when he saw one. Not to mention that she seemed to have a right good hold on her wand, which made him suspect she had a spell ready to launch.

The Sixth year student scanned the room, nodding to where a gaggle of students stood by a staircase. "Reckon she's with that bunch, Neville's telling quite the story."

"What'd he manage this time?" Harry grinned, by now more than used to his housemate's foibles.

"Something to do with the Muggle Professor," shrugged Seamus. "Darndest thing, that, but I suppose if there's anything to expect from Dumbledore—"

"–it would be the unexpected," finished Hermione, with a wide smile and a nod.

"Hey! We were about to go find you, we want your take on the whole new professor thing," said Ron, turning to find his friend standing at his elbow.

"There's something to be said for diversity, and maybe this will help dispel some of the myths about Muggles I hear Malfoy and his cronies tossing about in Potions." Hermione, who was herself Muggle-born, had a vested interest in this hiring.

"Well, maybe," acknowledge Ron, "But that's not quite what I meant."

"Hermione, do you have any idea how she did it—how she took the Express to school?" asked Harry. Seamus raised his eyebrows at that, and leaned to listen to their conversation. It was at that moment the first year he'd been tormenting let loose her spell: "_Refervesco auris_!"

"What the? You little!" Seamus shook his head, bewildered, as bubbles began coming out of his ears. "Oh, you'd better watch out Nellie McMurray, 'cause when your pa hears this one—" Seamus stopped his threat to give better attention to careening across the common room in pursuit of the young girl, who squealed and hooted with entirely too much pleasure.

"Family?" guessed Ron.

"First cousin," nodded Hermione. "Apparently she's quite good with hexes. She's got a reputation worse than your brothers did, at that age." Ron grinned. By "brothers" he knew she was referring to his older twin mischief-makers, who were already Hogwarts legends. They hadn't been expelled, exactly—rather, they had left, with quite a whirlwind leaving. Or whirlpool. At any rate, a first year who could channel some of that brilliance would be a welcome addition to their house. For everyone, it seemed, but Seamus, who was trying to pop the torrent of bubbles coming out of his head. Hermione watched for a second longer than was entirely proper before she sent the countercurse his way: "_Defervesco auris_."

"Thanks, 'Mione!" shouted a relieved Seamus, as he grabbed a couch pillow and took off after his young cousin, with a distinctly less-than-magical revenge planned.

"Good one," nodded Harry, impressed yet again by the breadth of Hermione's knowledge. Hermione smiled. Her self confidence had grown over the years, and her tendency to openly flaunt her smarts had faded. Still, she was reasonably fond of compliments, especially when they came from friends who were just as likely to tease her—in a friendly way, of course.

"Back to your professor question, though…" Hermione gestured to Neville. "He's got the answer."

"Neville?" Ron was surprised. It wasn't terribly often that Hermione Granger referred them to Neville Longbottom for an answer.

"Well, it was his doing, at any rate," Hermione began to explain. "See, he wasn't watching where he was going when he was on the Muggle side of the platform, and he ended up knocking the professor through it with his cart."

"His cart? Ow." Harry winced, and Ron look puzzled.

"But how would that get her through? She's still not magical."

"Same as it gets the carts through. The carts aren't magical. It's only because we're pushing them that they pass through the wall," Hermione explained.

"Oh…whoa. So it was like she was an extension of the cart. Ow." Now Ron was looking as though he had sympathy bruises. "I wonder how she meant to do it, before Neville came along."

"Maybe someone was supposed to meet her at the station?" suggested Harry, who was still marveling at Neville's uncanny ability to cause a muck-up.

"Some third years told me that Snape met her here, when she got off the train, and that he didn't seem too happy to see her." said Hermione, who was obviously half thinking of something else.

"What is it, 'Mione?" Harry asked. His friend had scrunched up her forehead in that peculiar way of hers.

"It's just strange that Snape met her here instead of picking her up on the other end. Especially with all of the attacks on Muggles lately."

"You know what's going on?" Ron asked, hesitating to push the topic.

"Yeah, and that my parents are in danger. Gives me the creeps. Especially having to trust any department connected in any way to Cornelius Fudge. And then there's the Lucius Malfoy issue…"

"How does he fit in?" Harry wasn't following.

"You didn't hear? He's a member of the committee in charge of protecting the Muggles." Hermione looked grim, with good reason. While Lucius Malfoy was never officially charged with any crime, the same can be said about a great many nefarious criminals. What his money couldn't get him out of or into, his influence did.

"No." Ron looked strained. "This must be why Dad's been in such a mood lately…" It wasn't a secret that Mr. Weasley was significantly less than fond of the man, especially since Malfoy's actions led to Ginny, the youngest of the Weasley clan, being possessed by Voldemort. It was what people politely call a touchy subject, and what people impolitely refer to as a reason for a quality arse-kicking. Mrs. Weasley had to be strongly discouraged from doing just that, when she had found out precisely who had slipped her only daughter a cursed diary.

"Yes. I hear that Dumbledore's got a finger in that pie, too, so hopefully he'll be able to counteract some of Malfoy's malintentions."

"That must be why he looked funny when he was telling us about it," surmised Harry, who had caught the fleeting expression cross the headmaster's face. "He must hate having to deal with that man."

"I'd rather tend to my giant spider farm than have afternoon tea with any of the Malfoys," agreed Ron.

"Hey, a man could use a hand over here!" hollered Seamus, as he tried in vain to subdue his twisting and kicking cousin under the couch pillow.

"More later?" Harry asked Hermione, who nodded. The three of them would get together later tonight, to discuss what was already proving to be a very interesting year.


	5. A Most Unorthodox Interview

The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off.

-Gloria Steinem

Quick note: I know Dumbledore isn't a Legilimens--not yet. But it seems like the sort of skill he might want to pick up, and I can see certain other members of the Order teaching him some tricks. It never pays to underestimate that wizard.

* * *

Chapter 5: A Most Unorthodox Interview 

When Saira woke, she found herself staring into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

"Now really, Severus," the old man scolded, "was that necessary?"

"If you'd seen a stranger around our students, within the context of our current situation, I believe you, too, would be cautious in your dealings with unknowns."

"You? You asshole!" snarled Saira, who recognized the dark haired man who'd made himself her nemesis, though she couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed to overcome her so easily. She sat up with every intention of nailing his smug face with a beauty of a shot, when a wave of nausea rocked her horizontal again. "Eugh," she sighed, regretfully rainchecking the intent.

"Good evening, Saira," the old man began. "I believe we all have some explaining to do." The man sitting next to her was ancient. His long white beard tumbled down his chest, and his face was a sketching of fissures and crannies. Most of them, Saira noticed, fell in such a way as to suggest a smile. It was hard not to warm toward him, despite the situation. As she shifted on the floor, she took in his robes, the stick—wand—he held in his hand, and the very strong presence he exuded.

"You're a wizard." It wasn't a question.

"And you are not." Dumbledore's response was level, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "And yet you are here."

"Here's where the train took me." Saira wasn't sure what else to say.

"And how did you come to the train?" Dumbledore peered down at her, a smile diffusing some of the intensity behind his question.

"I was knocked over by a kid. When I looked up, it was there."

"But what made you get on it?" Dumbledore had asked the question, but it was Severus Snape who shifted closer to hear the answer, his robes rustling menacingly.

"I didn't know where else to go. I was tired, and sick, and—I don't know." Saira frowned. She wasn't normally prone to stupid decisions. That's not to say she always followed the rules, just that usually she didn't end up getting caught as a direct result of not following them. –And how did they catch me, anyways? It's not like the train belongs to them, anyone with a ticket can hop it. I suppose I didn't exactly have a ticket for that particular one, but if it's a question of money I can get one. And why is my subconscious creating a wizard to ask me all of these questions? Is there something about my childhood I've neglected to address over the years?"

Dumbledore bit back a grin.

Saira narrowed her eyes. "Get out," she said quietly, directly. And Dumbledore did something he didn't often do: he looked surprised.

Until she saw his eyebrows raise, Saira hadn't known for certain the burgeoning Legilimens was sifting across her mind. No, dear reader, she doesn't have any latent magical powers that are going to spring to life. She does, however, have a healthy dose of common sense, and a sort of feckless approach to life. Or perhaps it's just blissful ignorance: not too many people tell Dumbledore what to do.

"You see, Albus, I make my point," Severus had a voice that would frost a summer day. "There is more to this 'Muggle' showing up than she admits."

Dumbledore wasn't swayed. "What makes you so certain, Severus?"

"What blinds you so easily, Albus? But really, it takes but a simple test. If I may," the drone in his voice suggested that, "may" or not, he likely would.

"Very well." Dumbledore sat back.

"What in hell—?" Saira began, cut off suddenly by Severus moving his wand rapidly:

"_Confiteor intentum_!"

"I don't want to go home," Saira said, and blinked back her confusion. That certainly hadn't been how she'd meant to end that sentence. And now, it was high tide for the waves of nausea she'd been fighting back all day. "Got a basket? Besides your friend?" she asked Dumbledore, pulling herself up and looking about frantically.

A container appeared on the chair she was clinging to, and she leaned into it, losing her stomach enthusiastically. –Oh, that's better…—

"It seems, Severus, that no malice is present. Except that which appears to be directed toward you," Dumbledore couldn't quite resist the comment. It was hard to let the opportunity slide by, watching the young woman spit one last time into the trash, before standing up and smoothing her coat jacket briskly, her expression dark. —Oh, now I'm _really _annoyed.— Saira was glowering.

"Miss Hansen, allow me to explain. Allow yourself to believe. My name is Albus Dumbledore. This is Severus Snape, Potions Master." He gestured to Snape, who looked bored. "You are not in a dream, you are instead at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft in North Britain. And your presence is a bit unexpected, but not entirely undesirable." Here Snape snorted his disagreement. "I have a proposition for you."

Saira stared at the man, her head eerily clear. She didn't believe him, it wasn't quite possible to. –But if he's insane, and that's likely, I might as well play along.— "And what would that be?"

"Seeing as how your primary intention right now is to avoid returning home, and I support it most enthusiastically, I was wondering if you might be interested in some form of employment."

Saira stared at the man blandly. –I doubt I'd be much use here, unless the school needs work done on its buses, or, possibly, someone to hand out band-aids in the infirmary.—

"It's true; the talents you are aware of could potentially be wasted here. I had something else in mind."

"Albus, what are intending here? And how will you explain it to the Ministry?" Snape looked irate.

Dumbledore ignored his Potions Master and focused instead on the young woman in front of him. "How are you with children?" He asked, his tone light.


	6. The More Things Change

Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back in many ways it is a feast fit for a king.

-Frederick Buechner

This idea was shamelessly swiped from the uber-brilliant Veresna Ussep's "Don't Lie to Me." Yum. That's all I can say there.

* * *

Chapter 6: The More Things Change… 

"Textbooks open to chapter 56," barked Snape, as he swung into class and slammed the door shut behind him. He stormed to the front of the room and paused, scouring the class with a malevolent glare.

A nervous quiet settled over the Potions room, even among the Slytherins. While their professor had never been known for his jovial nature, he seemed to be in a particularly ripe mood this first day of class, which didn't bode well for the rest of the year.

"Now," he began, his voice coldandgleaming with impliedthreat, "We shall be making an elementary invisibility potion today, as no doubt advanced ones are far beyond your paltry reaches. Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville paled visibly. –It had to be me, didn't it?— "Yes, sir?" he asked, in a voice that sounded a bit too small to be the product of his lanky frame.

"Tell me: what precautions must one take when preparing this potion?"

Neville thought. Or tried to. Really, all he could think about was Snape, staring at him with his coal-black eyes, likely to hex him into oblivion any minute now. –Oblivion would be nice— he concluded.

"Very well. 10 points from Gryffindor. Anyone else?" Neville shifted in his seat, more relieved to be off the spot than at all rocked by the loss of points.

The class was silent.

"I see," he began, menacingly quiet. "Six years of instruction have trickled through your sieve-like minds, creating a legion of dullards to champion us all through the coming years." He did not look particularly pleased.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped. Hermione looked at him. While she might have jumped, or felt her heart race in trepidation even a year ago, a change had settled across her this summer. She was more confident, calmer than before, and her voice remained level.

"Yes, sir?"

"Answer the question! Must I repeat myself constantly?" His eyes narrowed, and the frown sank even deeper into his sallow features. Was that a bruise Hermione detected on the left corner of his jaw line?

"You must prevent your cauldron from also becoming invisible."

"How?"

"By using the _Coarguo_ spell on it."

"20 points from Gryffindor. Next time you know the answer, Miss Granger, I expect to hear it immediately. Do not waste my time."

Snape whirled around, deliberately stalking back to the front of the room. "I hope, though in this notable case I am likely to be mistaken, that some of you are wondering why we don't rely solely on the "_Evanesco_" spell to create invisibility. Anyone? Not you, Potter." Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, who managed to put his hand down on the desk without shrugging. Hermione, for her part, affected a puzzled expression in a rare showing of spite.

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Because an invisibility potion can be used to treat only one side of a substance, for instance, invisibility cloaks."

"Excellent. 30 points to Slytherin. Now, cauldrons out—what are you all waiting for, the nudge of an impending glacier?"

* * *

"I can't believe he took points off you for answering the bloody question! What a wanky git!" Ron was still glowering about the incident at lunchtime.

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose he had a point, of sorts, even if he had a soddy way of making it."

"What gives, Hermione?" asked Ron. "It's not like you to hold out on us when you've got the answer."

"Ron!" Harry was quick to defend their friend. "It's not like she's our personal walking encyclopedia. Maybe she just didn't feel like it."

"Cost us 20 bloody points, her bloody not feeling like it. And then there was that wanker Malfoy, answering the easy question," Ron grumbled, but no one took him seriously. For all his kvetching, Ron didn't honestly fault Hermione, especially if Snape was involved.

"It just doesn't matter," Hermione began. "I mean, look at us—we're sitting here in school, learning a weak invisibility potion that only lasts until the suspension dries. What are we supposed to do with that, attack Voldemort from a swimming pool?"

"Oh, 'Mione…" Harry saw where this was going, and kicked himself for not picking up on it sooner.

"I'm here at school when I could be, _should be,_ home protecting my parents. And if something happens to them while I'm away, what good is all of this?" Hermione looked glum.

Ron leaned over and gave her a squeeze across the shoulders. "Hey, hang in there." In Ronspeak, that translated roughly to "I'm sorry, I really care about you." And Hermione was fluent in Ronspeak. She made a small smile.

"Dumbledore's not going to let anything happen to them, even if Lucius Malfoy wishes it were otherwise," said Harry, firmly. "And hey, guess what we have next!"

"Muggle studies." Hermione's smile broadened a bit. "Well, there's that. I've been meaning to talk to both…I heard Draco say his father wouldn't stand for it, and that he hears them 'laughing all the way from Durmstrang.'"

"Well, it's about time they did something cheerful there…" Ron had a dim view of the school, which was more than rumoured to teach Dark Magic.

"And I doubt his father can actually do much about it. He doesn't often have much luck, where Dumbledore's around," Harry pointed out.

"But I think Dumbledore's been spreading himself thin, and not at a good time. There are still quite a few people who haven't gotten their faith in him back since Cedric died, and he's trying to keep an eye on entirely too many Muggles right now." Hermione didn't often critique the headmaster; this was serious stuff.

"Well, they haven't gotten rid of her yet," Ron was optimistic. "And who knows, depending on what she's like, we might want him to."

"Ron!" Hermione rolled her eyes while Harry tried not to grin too widely, and the threesome went to meet their new professor.


	7. There's More Than One Way to Say

During times of war, hatred becomes quite respectable, even though it has to masquerade often under the guise of patriotism.

-Howard Thurman

The chapter title comes from a lesson my mother taught me; kudos to you, if it's familiar.

* * *

Chapter 7: "There's More than One Way to Say…"

Saira hadn't exactly been enthusiastic about the idea. "You want me to teach witches and wizards about non magical people?"

It was the first point she and Snape would agree upon. "You want HER to teach the students about Muggles!" Snape's complexion had unexpectedly taken on a bit of color. In particular, he had acquired a great deal of red over the pulsating artery on his temple.

"Yes, I believe our students could benefit immensely from an expanded education. Especially with Things As They Are Now, Severus." Dumbledore had the ability to say quite a bit when he said very little, and Snape narrowed his eyes and turned away from them both, beginning to pace the room. But, he remained quiet.

"I don't have any experience teaching," was all Saira could think to say. Which is ironic, because just minutes ago, she had many things she was ready to say, and even more toask. But with the answers she was being given, it didn't seem at all likely that her questions would receive anything in the way of a useful answer.

"Severus didn't, either, when he started," here Dumbledore smiled broadly. "And yet, he's one of the most effective Potions instructors our school has ever seen."

Saira stared at the black haired man walking the floor with brisk, deliberate steps. His robe trailed behind him like an inky shadow, fluttering dramatically as he turned his stride. He had the manner of a man living on the surface of thinly suppressed rage. –This does not look like the sort of person I would want teaching my children, should I managed to acquire any.—

"You mean, the man who abducted and 'cast spells' on me twice?" Saira couldn't keep the mocking tone from her voice. "This is your professor?"

"One of them," acknowledged Dumbledore. "But to his defense, when the conductor informed us there was a sleeping stranger in the midst of our students, we thought it would be wise to investigate."

"I see," the flatness of her tone conveyed exactly what she saw. –He doesn't look like he's too enthusiastic about me teaching, the bastard. It's his bloody fault I'm here. I could have gotten right back on that train and headed home, if he hadn't dragged me away. And then there's the matter of knocking me out cold. Oh, he's going to get his. But how? If I just up and leave, or try to, he wins. And that worthless git is not about to win.—

"I'll do it."


	8. Hey Kind Friend

"In skating over thin ice our safety is in our speed."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Yes, the chapter title is an Indigo Girls reference. Couldn't resist.

* * *

Chapter 8: Hey Kind Friend 

She woke early to the sun peaking in through the window of her chambers. The tower room Dumbledore had assigned to her was small, but airy, and (of course) it suited her well. After she'd gotten over her initial shock of wardrobes that opened themselves and mirrors fluent in sociable chit chat, she'd had time to appreciate her surroundings. Golden toned wood made the room clean and bright, and tall narrow windows let in the air and sun. Whoever had prepared the room had left a small jade plant on one of the window sills, a more welcome sight to her than flowers. –Flowers just die.—

When she'd entered her room so quickly last night, she'd been pleasantly surprised to see her suitcase resting at the foot of the four poster bed. It had been on the train when she began poking around at the station, and she'd intended to go back for it as soon as she'd found the taxi stand. –Do they even have taxis here? Why don't they just fly about on brooms?— It was mostly a rhetorical question. She still didn't accept what Dumbledore had told her, and it seemed as though people were role playing what one might expect a wizard to do. Too predictable. Too much like a dream. And so, her conception of herself as stuck in fantasy following her run in with Neville still had a tenuous hold on her. –But dreams don't last this long, don't feel this real. But I've never been in a coma-induced dream before, have I now?—

The good thing about this bizarre change of scenery was that she could place memories of the real world on hold temporarily. With no one having any expectations of her, aside from this laughable teaching gig, she didn't feel the responsibility and sadness that she'd been carrying around for the past week.

Reaching into her suitcase, she took out her running clothes. With the sun just nipping over the horizon, it was probably still early enough to sneak in a jog. –Just because I'm in a coma, it doesn't mean I have the right to slack off— she mused. And so, with trainers laced snugly and a weak parody of stretching, she set off on the castle grounds.

The air was chilly for an early September morning, the ground still damp from last night's drizzle. Fog pooled in the low areas, especially over the lake, giving the entire morning a distinctly magical feel. She snorted. –Magic, I would go and put magic into my fantasy land.— Her thoughts petered out as she began running in earnest. Measured, sturdy strides carried her over and then down a hill. Little interfered with her running; it was an addictive form of therapy for her. That said, the man who entered her vision was huge enough to bear notice.

"Good day, there!" His mouth was barely visible beneath the wild, busy beard, but she sensed it was smiling at her.

"Hello." She stopped. She saw the hut in the background, and rightly assumed it was his. "I'm Saira."

"Hagrid. Right pleased to meet you, I am. Don't suppose you'd like some tea? Me friend in Romania sent me a fine bunch of fire blasted biscuits!" Hagrid couldn't have known how much like her brother he seemed to be, or how much his kindness would matter to her.

"Blasted?"

"Oh yes, and blasted they were by baby dragons specially. Best to have the wee ones cook up yer chow, the older ones tend to have a bit of a sulfurous way about their breath."

Saira smiled at the picture of little dragons lined up, assembly style, working away in their modified bakeshop.

"Right then, come on in for a bit. It ain't but breakfast time, and surely you'll be wanting a nibble? Unless you'd rather go to the Great Hall?"

Saira quailed. She hadn't yet met the rest of the staff, though Dumbledore had promised to introduce her that evening, "after your first teaching experience, m'dear." If Severus Snape was any indication of who he hired, she didn't suspect she'd be too friendly with many of them. That said, she doubted that gaggles of young witches and wizards were likely to call her over to sit with them for a bite. –No, far better to make friends outside those castle walls.—

"No, here's good." Curiousity had the best of her.

"Right!" Hagrid was definitely smiling underneath his beard. "Well, come on then! No use standing about. You're not the only company I'm ter have this morning, and praps you'll do me friends a favor?"

"Well, what's the favor?" Saira couldn't imagine what sort of help she might be to anyone.

"Well, Dumbledore, he came by last night, an' said, 'Hagrid, we gots ourselves a Muggle teacher!' and I says, 'no,' but he says 'yes!' and, well, er—do ye know much about Muggle things, lass?" Hagrid opened the door to his thatched room as he finished the sentence. He had bounded towards it with such enthusiasm that Saira had continued her run a bit longer, just to keep up with him.

"Things? Like what things?"

"Oh, there she is!"

"Right, Hagrid—will she help?"

Saira started in surprise as she looked into the hut. Lounging at a low stone table, was the same person, twice. In one pose, he had a foot up across the bench, leaning against the stone wall. In the other, he was leaning over to scratch the head of an enormous drooling dog.

"Easy now, boys, introductions and biscuits first, don't ye think?" Hagrid shook his head. "If your mother saw you now…"

"She wouldn't—"

"–be at all surprised."

"I'm Fred, this here's—

"George, and—

–we're pleased to meet you." The twins grinned widely, used to the bewildered expression their introduction incited. Something about them was familiar to Saira…

"Do you have a younger brother? With hair that color?" she gestured to their bright red mops, both of which were falling untidily into their broad, freckled faces.

"Depends on what he's gotten himself into this time," said George, still smiling.

"Have he and Harry managed something so soon in the year?" It was Fred this time.

"They do have Hermione's help…" mused George.

"Er, no, I don't think so. I think I saw him saying goodbye to your mum at the train." Saira thought back to that moment, remembering what had struck her as odd about their conversation. "What a Howler?"

Fred chortled and George hooted in appreciation. "Starting with the threats a bit early this year, is mother dear?" There was an easy affection in George's voice.

"That's mum for you," agreed Fred, who conceded to an explanation. "A Howler is a sort of long distance tongue lashing, if you can imagine. We used get them all the time."

"Now it's just most of the time," sighed George.

"I see," said Saira.

"Oh, no doubt you will, if you stick around long enough," promised George.

"I doubt there's any danger in that," Saira had spoken before she'd thought. It was a common enough occurrence, and she'd chosen good company as subjects for the unbridled honesty.

"Howzaht?" asked Hagrid, interrupting a biscuit he'd started on during their conversation.

"I'm not a teacher. I can't even imagine what to do."

"Can't be that bad," offered Fred. "I never noticed that too many of our professors gave it much thought, when we were students."

"And that's another thing," Saira began, not entirely certain how much it was safe to tell them, "I've already gotten into a bit of a muddle with one professor." –And I swear it's not over yet,— the dark thought crossed her mind.

"Hmm? Do tell?" It was Fred again, looking interested. "Don't suppose you stepped on McGonagall's tail?"

"Er—what?" Saira couldn't even begin to understand this one.

"Never mind. Who was it?"

"Snape."

There was a considering silence. George decided to press the issue: "And by muddle, I don't suppose you mean 'physical violence?'" He looked hopeful.

"Funny you should mention that…" Saira smiled, glancing down at the raw skin on her middle knuckle. It had been a cheap shot, a total sucker punch, and it'd felt pretty good. Dumbledore had dismissed her late last evening, and asked Snape to escort her to her new quarters.

"Take this," instructed the headmaster, handing her a small silver key. "You don't actually need to use it on the door, just carry it in your pocket the first time you go in. The door will only admit you, and anyone you invite, but the two of you must be properly introduced first. Normally it would require a small spell, but there's ways around most magic. As you'll no doubt find out." The headmaster had a particularly vibrant twinkle in his eye.

She wondered if Dumbledore would fire her for knocking down one of his staff members, but figured Snape had earned it in his parting remarks, after he'd grimly pointed to the door of her chamber and turned to take his leave. _"You won't last the week. Your greatest achievement is being the most stupendous mistake the Headmaster has ever made."_ He'd been concentrating so much on his sneer, he hadn't been aware of the right hook coming at him. Saira hadn't given him a chance to respond—just opened and shut her door with an alacrity she hadn't felt in some time, and hoped the headmaster hadn't deceived her. When Snape hadn't barged in behind her, she'd been quite amused with the whole turn of events. –Magical doors…that admit only me. Ha!—

Both Weasleys were staring at her hand in awe. "I don't flippin' believe it." It was George who said it, but the ear to ear grin on Fred's face suggested that both twins did, in fact, believe this choice bit of information.

Hagrid busied himself with filling a tea kettle, coughing deeply and muttering about the dust the bats brought in.

"Milady, we are your humblest servants. You have but to ask," Fred was down on one knee, arms outstretched in exaggerated chivalry.

Saira decided to take them up on the offer. "What I need is something to convince a roomful of magical children that a 'Muggle' is worth listening to. And I need it by 1 this afternoon." She looked out the window, and saw the mist beginning to clear from the ground. –Not too promising, that.—

"Oh, is that all?" George grinned. "I'm sure we can think of something. We do, after all, have a reputation to uphold."

"Right you are, my good man." Fred's face mirrored his brother's perfectly. "And, in exchange…"

"Yes?" Saira was actually looking forward to hearing whatever request these two were going come up with.

"How are you with Muggle motorbikes? We've got one that needs a bit of fix-up."

The morning passed quickly.


	9. Poof!

It doesn't work to leap a twenty-foot chasm in two ten-foot jumps.

-American Proverb

Chapter 9: Poof!

Saira jumped with a guilty conscience as Dumbledore walked into the classroom. She'd gotten set up before the students arrived, ready with a plan of action. She had not, however, counted on the headmaster.

Dumbledore merely arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Good afternoon, Professor Hansen."

"Oh, you're not going to start with that are you?" All the years she'd spent in school, Saira had resisted the overuse of titles.

"Well, professor you are, and I believe it's a good way to introduce you to the students. It wouldn't do to serve you with any less on your first day here at Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled serenely, his hands fold in the picture of innocence.

Saira wondered if he'd heard about her little scrap with Snape. –Not likely the git went and told him, now is it? _"Oh sir, save me, I got knocked down by the wee one!"_— She stifled a nervous laugh and decided to follow Dumbledore's lead.

"You're going to introduce me, then?"

"Certainly. I want it to be very much known that headmaster of Hogwarts supports you. I hope to make your teaching here as pleasant as possible, Professor."

She had a feeling he was deliberately saying professor, just because he could. But he didn't seem like the sort of person one might argue with and win against easily, and she had a few other things on her mind at the moment. She watched quietly as the students filed into the room, chatting with each other and throwing curious glances in her direction. "Oh geez, how am I going to remember all their names?" She looked at Dumbledore, a bit dismayed.

"Simple enough. I'll give you a photo roster this evening, at the faculty meeting. You're going to go just fine, my dear." Somehow, his saying it made it more likely to be true. At any rate, she smiled in response, as Dumbledore turned to face the room full of sixth year students.

"Good afternoon, class. I trust you are having a pleasant first day back." Some nods, shrugs, and a few outright groans followed, depending on the section of the room. "You will notice two things about this class that make it distinct from the rest of Hogwarts curriculum. One is that we have grouped members of all four houses together. The other is our Resident Expert on Muggle Affairs, Professor Hansen."

Saira blinked back her amusement. –"Expert," eh?—

"I trust you all will find something beneficial in this newly required class for our sixth year students. Professor Hansen will be drawing from her vast experience in the field to bestow the most current knowledge upon you. I suspect you will all find it more than a bit useful in the coming years." Here Dumbledore's voice softened slightly, as if he were considering the full extent of his statement. His eyes met Hermione Granger's, and she nodded at him.

"Carry on, Professor Hansen. I look forward to hearing your account of this day." Dumbledore's words seemed to have the faintest suggestion of threat, but Saira wasn't under the impression it was leveled at her. She scanned the faces of the class, sensing the mix of curiousity, boredom, and outright malevolence. –What have I gotten myself into?—

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." She smiled at him as he tipped his hat to her, and shut the door behind him on his way out. –He would be so considerate.—

"Today I am going to give you a very brief introduction to the class, and explain my expectations of you." Saira heard herself speaking, but felt strangely removed from the situation. –Small surprise, given the circumstances.— She pressed on, "'Muggle Studies' will consist of a series of structured lectures, for which you will receive a syllabus at our next meeting. Homework will be assigned at random, and will be graded on quality of thought, not length of content." She remembered spending a bit too much time and effort on bastardizing fonts and margins to meet required paper lengths and had decided not to immortalize the practice.

"Professor Dumbledore has informed me of several areas of study he finds particularly compelling, and those we will examine them in depth. While there will be no exams," here a murmur of appreciation swelled through the room, "there will be a required research project on a topic of your choosing, provided I approve it."

"Because I have experience traveling and living in much of the non-magical world, your headmaster is hoping I can give you some form of cross-cultural education. I hope that's the case, though I suspect I will join most of your professors in granting you an education slanted strongly by my personal biases. That is worth acknowledging." She scanned the room. They were still listening. A few were whispering to each other, but it didn't seem blatantly disrespectful. A glare topped with white-blonde hair tried to catch her eye, but she refused to meet it. She'd deal with the difficult children later. Besides, they might soften up a bit when she let them out of class early.

"Now for your first assignment." This time, a soft sigh swept the room. "I know you have an idea of who Muggles are, and what we are capable of doing. I suspect you underestimate us." She smiled. Dumbledore had more or less come out and said that, just last night. "And so, your assignment for the evening is this: in one page or less and due next class, I would like to you explain how I, a veritable Muggle without any magical powers, have managed—" she paused, allowing herself a wide smile, "—to do this."

And without any ceremony, smoke, or wands, Saira Hansen disappeared.

* * *

"It was 'poof!' without the poof, Ginny, she just DISAPPEARED!" Ron was in awe.

"It had to be magic, then, right?" Ginny was not so easily convinced.

"No, it couldn't have been. She didn't have a wand, and anyways she's a Muggle. And on top of that, if someone else was helping her, and making her disappear, we'd have to see or hear the spell, or at least the wizard. And there was no one else in that room, we all checked it before we left. It was amazing." The two of them sat at the Gryffindor table for dinner, discussing the most popular topic of the first day of school.

"But how could a Muggle manage that sort of trick? Think Dad would have an idea?" Ginny was intrigued, and it wasn't altogether impossible that Arthur Weasley might have a suggestion. He was well known for being fond of all things non-Magical

"Maybe. It's our homework tonight to try and guess how she did it. Hermione's been thinking about it, and she said she might have a lead."

"Hmm." Ginny looked thoughtful. "Did Malfoy do anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's been talking up a storm about how much of a disgrace it is to be taught by a Muggle. I heard he went to Dumbledore's office and tried to get out of the class, but of course that didn't work. I just wondered if he'd tried anything on the first day."

"No…but then, Hansen didn't exactly give him an opening, either."

"Good for her." Ginny grinned, enjoying the thought of Malfoy's jaw dropping along with the rest of the class, when his "worthless Muggle" professor disappeared.

"How'd you hear he went to Dumbledore?"

"You know Hogwarts; word gets around. Hey, did you see the package from Mum?"

"No, what's it got?"

"Food is what it's got. I left it in the common room, wrapped up, for you. Might want to snag it before someone else does."

"Good call, sis." Ron ruffled her hair. "See you later!"


	10. Family Affairs

"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."

-Robert Heinlein

Chapter 10: Family Affairs

"Ah, Severus. I have some importunate matters to discuss with you." Dumbledore paused, unwrapping a lemon drop.

"No, thank you." Severus declined, before the headmaster offered. He was rewarded with a grin.

"Bother, am I so predictable? No matter."

"You were saying, sir?" Though Severus was never outright rude to the headmaster, he did have subtle ways of conveying displeasure. And right now he had quite a bit of displeasure to convey, particularly with the impending faculty meeting and that _blasted Muggle_ stirring up the school with some fiendish prank. It rather smacked of a "Twin Weasley", now that he thought of it. His eyes narrowed in distaste. They were far gone and good riddance. And he would find out who had been helping her.

"There's been another attack on the Muggles," Dumbledore's voice was quiet, and his eyes focused on a sight only he could see. "Today on a bus. It was blown up, apparently to get the father and brother of Ellsbeth Kettleborn, who graduated last year. You remember, the tall girl from Ravenclaw?"

Severus gave a brief nod.

"Voldemort seems to think that clearing the world of Muggles who've produced witches or wizards is going to purify the magical lines. He's put contracts out on several known Squibs, and no immediate Muggle family member of anyone magical seems to be safe. Some of the headmasters at other institutions are making up lists of those who need Ministry protection. But what if those lists fall into the wrong hands?" Dumbledore turned back to Snape.

"I feel at a bit of a loss now, Severus."

Severus Snape shifted his weight uneasily in the high-backed chair. "The Order should meet soon. This weekend? It is imperative that we update the surveillance spells, perhaps enhance them. And we must examine Voldemort's recruiting methods. It may be possible to encourage the Muggles away from him."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll floo you later this evening, after I've spoken with the other members. Oh, and Severus?"

Snape arched an eyebrow at the change in tone.

"Did you have an accident? Your chin looks dreadful."

Snape opened his mouth to begin a lengthy tirade on the subject of foolhardy hirings, but was interrupted by a noisy flash of green flame as Minerva McGonagall appeared in the fireplace.

"Good evening, Albus. Severus." She nodded briefly. "I trust you both are well."

"Entirely, my dear. Lemon drop?"

"I think I shall. And a stiff cup of coffee, if you would, Albus. With brandy. It seems the first years started a bit of 'curse-club' in the common room this evening. Somehow, they managed to hex Longbottom's frog into a table lamp. Hideous shade of green; there's a reason that went out in the 60s." McGonagall settled herself into the couch, letting out a slow sigh of relief as she relaxed. "As I left, Longbottom had just attempted its revival, but it's still got an unsightly amount of fringe running down its back. That boy never ceases to be a wonder."

"As in, one wonders how his parents, an absolutely brilliant couple, managed to create our most Squib-like student?" Snape rarely missed the opportunity to bemoan Longbottom's admission to Hogwarts. But then, he'd had to replace four cauldrons since the boy started Potions, and such things did not come cheap.

"Not quite, Severus." McGonagall frowned, and her narrowed. "I was merely referring to his unfortunate penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But one might say the same about any number of students, including more than a few of yours."

The arrival of Professors Sprout and Flitwick provided a diversion, the pair of them bustling into the room with wide smiles on their faces.

"Hello, all!" Professor Sprout was effusive in her greeting. "Did you hear the delightful stunt our new Muggle Studies professor pulled off today? I hear there are more than a few students in the library tonight—of all places!—trying to figure out just how she did it. And I hope she'll spill the beans to us." Sprout was fond of a good story.

"I rather suspect I know the answer," Flitwick began, "but I'm at a loss as to who she recruited to assist her. It's a particular interesting point as she had but a half day to construct it. Marvelous, just marvelous!" Filius Flitwick prided himself on his deductive abilities, which were rarely challenged. Having a brain teaser to work out over the course of the day had put him in an exceptionally good mood.

"Are you sure it wasn't Severus?" Professor Sinistra strolled through the floo, a wicked gleam in her eye. "It seems the two of them 'hit it off' right from the start."

"I would strongly suggest discussing anything else…" Snape's voice purred its lowest and most dangerous. "Unless you are not so terribly fond of your limbs?"

"Speaking of which," Sinistra began, taking the hint, "How's the game, Hooch?"

"Lovely, just lovely! We got in a vicious batch of new beaters. Can't wait to try 'em out!" Rolanda Hooch grinned her crooked smile, which had ended up that way, no doubt, thanks to any number of those aforementioned beaters.

"'Ay there, Professor, Sir, don't s'pose you've got a bit of tea left?" Hagrid lumbered in, looking hopeful. "Right, then, thank you."

Dumbledore scanned his office, surreptitiously ensuring all the cups were filled. He was a practiced and gentile host. Winking, he slipped a little extra brandy in an eternally grateful Minerva's glass.

"Ooh, over here with that!"

"No, don't give it to her; she's got to fly home tonight."

Rolanda stuck out her tongue in Filius's general direction, but didn't press the issue. It wouldn't set a good example for the students to have their flying instructor career into the Whomping Willow, even if she did believe she was capable of just a little nip.

"So, professor, where is the little lady?" Hagrid shot out a big smile as he flopped down on the couch next to McGonagall.

Saira, for her part, was nervously ascending the stairs to Dumbledore's office. She was not looking forward to meeting a room full of wizards in black cloaks, even though Hagrid had tried his best to reassure her.

–At least I'll have one friend there.— She thought about Hagrid, and smiled. "Beenie Botts!" she said, upon reaching Dumbledore's door. To her amusement, it opened in response, just as the headmaster had told her it would. –Imagine that. It even beats The Clapper.—

"Professor Hansen, is that you?" Dumbledore called out, cheerfully.

—Does that man ever wake up in a bad mood? Amazing.— "It is. Hello." Her stride faltered as she entered the room, aware that all eyes were on her. –At least some of them are smiling. Of course, that could just mean I have something in my teeth. Drat.—

"Saira! Come 'an put a leg up." Hagrid patted the couch between him and McGonagall, and smiled.

Saira could have kissed him. She settled for a quick hug, and sat down.

"This 'ere's Professor McGonagall, an' this is…" Hagrid went around the room, introducing the staff. Saira sincerely hoped that she wouldn't be required to remember all of them. –Where have I heard McGonagall's name?—

"So nice to meet you, my dear," Professor Sprout began brightly. "And we are all hoping you'll tell us how you managed your splendid trick today. All the students from my house were so puzzled!"

"Which is notable because…?" Snape, in a rare showing of restraint, was merely droll.

"Don't mind him," McGonagall advised, "I don't believe I've ever heard him say anything complimentary about anyone who wasn't a Slytherin."

Snape contented himself with a dark glower from the confines of an armchair.

Saira decided to ignore Snape and the calculating stare he had fixed on her, and turned her attention to Professor Sprout. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you _exactly_ how I did it."

"Do you believe we're untrustworthy?" Minerva McGonagall arched an eyebrow, her voice suddenly tense.

"No, I made a promise." Saira was puzzled to see McGonagall's face relax noticeably, and an approving nod be directed her way.

"Always one for a show of loyalty, eh Minerva?" Hooch teased from across the room.

"I merely find it satisfying that some people still possess an ounce of decorum, Rolanda." McGonagall's eyes twinkled, even as her face remained perfectly serious.

"Well, if not _exactly_ how, perhaps a rough outline would do?" Flitwick was not about to have his curiousity remain completely unsated.

"Sure," Saira nodded, "that's fine. I never actually disappeared from the room. I was never in it, to begin with."

Flitwick's face held a broad smile, and Sprout sighed, digging into the folds of her robe. She passed something to him.

"A friendly wager?" Dumbledore commented.

"You'd think I'd know better than to go against that man," Sprout said, shrugging and shaking her head with a smile. "No harm done, just a sickle this time."

Hagrid chuckled.

"While I'm sure everyone has much advice to offer our new colleague, our meeting this night will have to be unexpectedly brief due to some unforeseen circumstances—"

"Consulted Trelawney again?" Sinistra murmured softly, earning a very small smirk from Snape.

"—but I do hope you will all offer your assistance and wisdom to Professor Hansen, allowing her to feel at home at Hogwarts."

Saira was relieved to see so many smiling faces looking at her. Oh, she didn't bother glancing to the chair where Snape sat, and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of the narrow-eyed assessment she was receiving from Sinistra, but that wasn't nearly as bad as what she'd been expecting. –All of them appear to have wardrobes with color, for one.—

Dumbledore offered her a hand up from the couch, and leaned in closer to her ear. "Saira, may I ask you to stay after a minute? I have a few things I wish to give you." Saira nodded and smiled.

"Was good to see you 'gain, Saira. Stop by soon, Fang already misses you."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hansen. If there's anything I can do to make your tenure more pleasurable, please let me know." McGonagall gave her a polite smile and nod before she departed into the fireplace with a flash of green.

Saira's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open.

"Floo powder, my dear. All this will be old hat in no time. Come find me tomorrow, I'd love to chat with you," Sprout said, coming over to give Saira a warm hug that smelt faintly of freshly turned soil. Over her shoulder, Saira saw Sinistra give her a curt acknowledgement and brief smile before she left the room in an attempt to catch up with Snape.

"Miss Hansen, it's a real pleasure." Flitwick shook her hand and bowed his head before leaving the room with Sprout. Saira heard them discussing a bet involving the maturation of something called mandrakes as they left the office.

Professor Hooch approached Saira, her broom in hand. "Dumbledore, do you mind if I leave from here?"

"Not at all, I'll close up after you're gone," the headmaster smiled, heading to open the large window on the other side of the room.

Then came a mischievous whisper. "Hey Muggle-lady," Rolanda's intense golden eyes found Saira's, "if you'd ever like a ride on my broom, do let me know." She grinned, winked, and flew off, waving to Dumbledore as she passed by.

"What now, an offer?" Saira watched the wiry witch speed into the night, and considered. While she'd never gotten around to being with a woman, it wasn't for lack of attraction, just time and options. And she certainly didn't intend on staying celibate while she was here; that was hardly her style. It could make for a pretty interesting arrangement…

–Of course, for all I know, she might be literally offering me a ride on her broom. But I doubt that's the case. Hope not, anyways.—

Saira resolved to seek out Rolanda Hooch the very next chance she got.


	11. Lemon Drops

"Hogwarts: A Prospectus" is from JM Matthews estimable _Slytherin Rising_ series. ("Estimable" is a snotty word that roughly substitutes for "kickass.")

And hey—this is my first attempt at fan fiction, and any advice you all might give me would be really appreciated.:-) Please, review!

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.  
Aldous Huxley

* * *

Chapter 11: Lemon drops

"Not too overwhelming, I hope?" Dumbledore's eyes were kind as he approached.

"Not as bad as I expected."

He met her smile. "There are a few who couldn't make it tonight, but they are included in this facebook," he began, handing her a palm size, leather bound journal. She flipped it open, then nearly dropped it in shock.

"They're moving!"

"The first time I opened a Muggle picture book, I was equally surprised to see images that were still. Would you like a lemon drop?" he offered.

"Oh, that'd be nice." Saira took the proffered candy, popping it into her mouth. It was oddly comforting, perhaps because it reminded her of the mundane in this situation where not much else did.

"I think you'll like this next one. It's the one we send to our students who have grown up with non-magical families," he said, handing her a slim book entitled _Hogwarts: A Prospectus_.

"Thank you."

"And, Saira, may I have a brief word with you?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Not because of anything you've done." He assured, and she relaxed visibly. "Please," he gestured to a chair by his desk, "come sit a minute."

Saira settled into the armchair, realizing it was the very one Snape had occupied just minutes ago. Her nose took in a little extra air, trying to sort out the presence of her most attractive nemesis to date. –Well, at least he smells good…sort of like cinnamon.—

"I'm not sure how much it's fair to expose you to on your first full day here. The better part of me would rather keep most information from you, until you're better ready to hear it," Dumbledore began.

Saira's spine straightened, and she began to narrow her eyes. –Since when does he get to decide what I'm ready to hear? What if it's important that I know something sooner?—

"However, past experiences have led me to believe that sheltering others can just as likely get them into grief as save them from it. Before I begin, though: a question for you."

She appraised the man before her, watching his elegant fingers slide together smoothly in his lap. So serene he might have been a Buddhist monk begging dinner outside of the Underground, the old wizard reminded her of schoolbook pictures she'd seen of the Thames in a harsh winter. Still and smooth on the outside, but you knew there had to be current raging purposefully beneath.

"Yes?"

"What sort of work did your brother end up doing?"

She blinked. Despite Dumbledore's assurance that the conversation had nothing to do with her actions, Saira had been preparing to explain her way out of her dealings with Snape. She was so caught off guard by the question, her mouth opened a good few seconds before any sound came out. –_End up doing_? He knew Rafi?—

"Um, he fixed cars, and mopeds, and had a music gig with friends. Why? And how did you know I had a brother?"

"He told me about you. In many ways, it's more surprising I know he had a sister."

Saira had the distinct impression she was being teased. She squared her shoulders and looked at the old wizard, remaining very still as she turned his words over in her mind. –Come off of it, this is still your subconscious. And think, the both of you were boarding school brats, once upon a time. Just never at the same school. And wouldn't it be funny if Rafi went to school here? That's it; it's just you, trying to make sense of an unfamiliar situation. Like the coma you're in.— She clung to her belief that this was some sort of entertaining dream especially hard for a minute. Not too many people willingly give up their faith systems, even if they've only had them for a matter of days.

"Why would my brother come to school here?" –That's it, put him on the defensive. Give nothing away. He doesn't need to know you think he's a figment of your mind.—

Dumbledore popped another candy in his mouth, and gestured to the bowl on his desk. Saira unwrapped another –_Mmm, butterscotch_- and followed suit. –Though I really think another sort of scotch would suit me far better right now.—

"Your brother went to school here the same reason your students go to school here. He was a wizard. Reasonably adept, when he put his mind to it. But, as I recall, he never put much stock in it. I think he had some serious opposition at home." Dumbledore's glasses hadn't moved, nor had his face, but nonethelessSaira had the impression of him peering over them.

–Rafi, a wizard? Doesn't seem quite right.— "But if he was a wizard, wouldn't that mean that he'd do some magic? I grew up with him, even if we did go to different schools. We spent summers together, and we worked together. I even lived in his flat for a bit, before I saved enough to get my own. He was wonderful, yes—but not magical."

"Perhaps." Dumbledore smiled, a trace of sadness in his eyes. "But perhaps it's something he didn't choose to share with many people. As I recall, even while your brother was here he would try to solve problems without using magic. He thought too much magic made wizards lazy. He graduated, but never sat for his NEWTs, and left his wand behind when he returned home. I'm not sure why he stayed as long as he did, though I wish he'd stayed longer."

Saira thought it over, trying to remember anything about Rafi that had seemed different or magical. And she couldn't. It made her sad to think this stranger might know more about her brother than she did.

"Saira," Dumbledore's tone became very gentle, "I'm sorry he's gone. And, I'm even more sorry when I tell you that I think his death might not have been an accident, though that's what you've been told."

Her eyes were on him, unflinching. –He will not make me cry.—

Dumbledore paused, gauging her reaction, and then continued. "There are some who do not much care for magical people who do not practice magic. Those who cannot practice magic are called Squibs. But those who do not practice? Few understand the distinction. I believe that, combined with your mother being a non-magical person, is what set your brother up for an attack."

Saira shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't believe you." Her voice was quiet, but level.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, as though he expected she might have doubts. The old man turned in his chair, and brought down a wooden box and a small scrap of paper. A picture.

"Here," he offered. "This is a picture taken of your brother on graduation. We might have others, in the yearbooks, if you're interested."

Saira looked down at the familiar face. –Rafi.— He shrugged and nodded at the photographer, as if saying "yes, it's me—let's get this over." Saira was still a second longer.

"May I keep this?" she asked.

"Of course. And also, this, if you'd like. It's customary to break a wizard's wand when he dies, but since Rafi didn't have his with him…" Dumbledore's voice trailed off, and he opened the narrow woodenbox in front of them.

It was a smallish wand, innocuous looking in a fair, nearly honey colored wood. "European boxwood," offered Dumbledore, "with an ivory core. Quite musical, your brother."

"Yes, he was…" Saira gazed absentmindedly at the wand, and then looked back at the picture. –I'm going to have to think this over. This is craziness. And what's this about his death not being an accident? I don't want to know.—

"This, too, is yours to have, if you want it." The old wizard rested a light, warm hand on top of Saira's. "I think that's enough for one night, don't you? Unless you have any questions?"

Saira thought a moment. –What can I possibly ask him? I mean, is there anything I really want the answer to? No more about Rafi, I don't think I can stand another moment of this, not tonight.— And then it hit her.

"Well, one question."

Dumbledore smiled, leaning forward in a fatherly way.

"Sir…does Professor McGonagall really have a tail?"


	12. Be Careful What You Ask For

"Always obey your parents when they are present."

-Mark Twain

* * *

Chapter 12: Be Careful What You Ask For 

Saira stumbled down the hall, her new possessions under her arm. –All I need are paws, and I'd be dog tired… Hope I can remember how to get back to my rooms, this has been one long day.—

Of course, things are never that simple. Saira had scarcely turned down the second corridor when she heard the yelling.

"Scoundrel! MISCREANT! It's the manacles for you, this time fer certain!"

–I don't much like the sound of this…— Saira took a deep breath and turned around the corner. To her relief, all she saw was an old man with disheveled hair, leaning into the face of a scraggly boy, who appeared to be hanging onto…a security blanket? –He's a bit old for that, I'll wager.—

"YOU!" The man careened around in a wild circle, and swooped towards Saira.

–Oh dear. Not now. Not tonight. I am _not_ in the mood.— "Yes, _me_." she said, her voice its iciest. "And who might _you_ be?" She glared and took a step towards him, her head held high anda hand rising to rest on her hip. Saira did "bitchmode" pretty well.

To her surprise, instead of looking chastened or further infuriated, the old man straightened up a bit, and gave her an approving nod. "Well, seems they do know what they're doing, after all…"

Before Saira had a chance to process his words, he'd rounded back on the boy and grabbed him soundly by the ear.

"OW!"

"That's right, yell all you want now. You'll be doing a lot more yelling before I'm done with you, you thieving little brat!" The man dragged his prey in front of Saira. "Do you see this? This here putrid little vermin can't even get through his first week of school before he's snooping around the halls. He thinks he won't get caught, that he's above the law—but let me tell you, the law here, between Mrs. Norris and myself, Argus Filch, it _will_ be upheld!"

Saira could feel the stirrings of a migraine. Who was this insufferable Argus Flich, and why did he persist in talking to her? –Gods, I am tired.— She looked at the boy's face, recognizing him as the redhead she'd seen at the train station. The very same redhead whose brothers had so recently done her a good turn. And, if she stretched her memory, she could place him in her class just today, sitting in the back between a dark haired boy, and a girl with curly brown hair. –Now, if I could only remember his name…—

The boy's face, even in the gloomy light of Filch's torch, stood out in drastic pale contrast to his hair and freckles. And, he kept trying to hide his blanket from view. Filch, however, was not put off.

"And what have we here? Ah-HA!" Triumphant, the caretaker yanked the blanket out of the boy's grip, and held it aloft as if it were an Olympic medal. "You see what we're dealing with!" He looked at Saira with glittering eyes.

"I certainly do. This is absolutely inexcusable behavior from a student." Saira felt her face slip into an auto-pilot mask. "There is no excuse for trespassing on school grounds at night. None."

Filch looked jubilant. "Exactly! I thought you'd agree!"

"Furthermore, he is only compounding his crimes by lollygagging about in the hallways. Young man, you will come with me to discuss your punishment. Filch, I will take this as evidence." Saira reached for, and received, the blanket. The caretaker looked as though his might swoon with joy.

"And what might his punishment be, Professor? I'm more than willing to help you devise one."

"I assure you, that won't be necessary. I am more than capable of dealing with anyone idiotic enough to get himself caught at this hour. Unless you doubt my abilities…?" Saira took yet another step towards Argus Filch, her expression dark.

"Not in the least, dear lady! You are a credit to Hogwarts. If you ever require my assistance, you have but to ask."

Saira had turned away from the caretaker even before he'd finished speaking, and stalked across the few steps that separated her from the boy.

"You will follow me. You will not step to the left or to the right, or I will be feeding you to whatever it is that lives in that lake. Understand?" Filch squawked with anticipatory glee behind them.

The boy nodded, and the two of them made quick progress through the hallways. The only place Saira knew how to find, excepting her quarters, was the classroom she'd taught in earlier that day. And so, there they went. She stormed through the door, flinging it open, and gestured to the boy to sit. Saira had barely pulled the door shut behind her before the shaking, which had been barely evident in front of Filch, overtook her body.

"Professor Hansen?" The boy watched her back quiver. "Are you alright?"

When Saira turned around, she had tears glistening in her eyes. And she finally let lose the laughter she'd been holding back.

"All right? That was the most fun I've had…well, maybe not all day. Not today. But it rates up there. Oh, his face, it was too much…manacles? What sort of nutter is he?" She wiped her eyes, still chortling, and assessed the boy in front of her.

"You might want to close your mouth, before something flies in or out of it. Wouldn't surprise me at all here. And what's your name? Weasley something, I'm sure, and it's not a Fred or George unless your parents are particularly cruel."

"Um. Ron. Ron Weasley. I'm in your Muggle Studies class."

"Yes, yes…and so tell me, Ron, what were you doing out in the hallway? And how did you get caught? Just up and tell me the truth, it's much simpler than any other plan you might have."

Ron considered his options. He didn't quite see that he had too terribly many, at this point. _Harry is going to _kill _me!_

"Don't laugh?" He looked pleadingly at his professor. "It's a total wingjob."

"Now you've got me curious." Saira sat on the desk in front of Ron, waiting.

"I was hungry. So I nipped down to the kitchen, and it would have been a quick in-out sort of deal, only I tripped over that dratted cat. Mrs. Norris, I mean. I swear, she tripped me on purpose! And I went flying and Filch came running, and then, well, you were there."

"So, how'd you do?"

"Huh?"

"Well, did you manage to get any food?"

Ron's mouth dropped again. And then he grinned the same way his brothers did, as he turned out the front pocket of his shirt. Four neatly wrapped pasties tumbled onto the desk.

Saira smiled. "Good to see the whole evening wasn't a waste. And now…shouldn't you be headed back?"

Ron turned pale again. "Wait, please, please I need that back—" he gestured to the blanket, no, it was a _cloak_ in Saira's lap.

"This?" She looked down at the tumble of material in her lap, and her eyes widened in surprise. It gloamed in her lap as though it were a pool of mercury, looking distinctly magical. "What, exactly, is this?"

Ron winced. He had assumed she'd known what it was, and had thought his chances of getting it back were slim to begin with. Now that she was asking questions, he had a feeling Harry might just be encouraging Malfoy to practice his nastiest hexes on him come tomorrow.

"Well?" Saira was waiting. And she was tired.

"It's…" he paused. He tried to think of anything else it could be. Then he gave up. "It's an invisibility cloak."

"Really." Saira stared at the boy, and then shifted her eyes back to the cloak. She handed it to him. "Show me."

Ron slipped it over his shoulders—which immediately disappeared from view.

"Oh. That's enough." Saira raised her hands in surrender. "Should have believed you the first time. Well, take it—it's yours. And don't get caught again."

"Aren't you going to punish me?" Ron was in drastic danger of wetting himself, he was so overjoyed.

Saira arched her left eyebrow and pursed her lips. Her smile broke through seconds later, as Ron's expression turned to dismay with therealization of what he'd just said.

"All right." Saira shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Ron returned to the Griffyindor halls with only three pastries remaining in his pocket.


	13. Lucerna Obscuro

"Family is link to our past, bridge to our future."

-Alex Haley

* * *

Chapter 13: _Lucerna Obscuro_

To say that Saira slept well that night wouldn't be entirely correct. To say that she stumbled into her room, barely made it to her bed, and woke up around noon with her shoes still on would provide a slightly more accurate telling. As entertaining as her run-in with Ron had been, it'd kept her up much later than she'd intended, and she'd had a particularly hard time finding her way back to her quarters.

When she did finally scrape herself off the sheets, one of the first things she saw was the little wooden box Dumbledore had given her.

She sighed. While it was fine and good to try and ignore thoughts of her brother's death, that sort of approach worked about as well as pushing wheel spokes. Sure, you could push them away—but the harder you push, the sooner they come back.

–He died in a car accident. How on earth could that be foul play?— The thought was disquieting. When Saira had gotten the call from the hospital nearly two weeks ago, she'd spent a good few days glued to the floor, sobbing. She'd gotten it together enough in time to go to his funeral, and had been beginning to make some peace with the fact that her brother was gone. Not that it didn't still hurt, but she could accept that it had happened and was working on not blaming him for wrapping his car around a post.

He'd been going too fast, the officer had said. –Well, he _always_ went too fast.— It wasn't that he was absurdly reckless, just that he liked the feeling of a well tuned machine. It made sense, from a mechanic. "It's like flying," he'd told her once.

This was the first time she'd thought he might actually have known what flying felt like.

The picture Dumbledore had given her was strangely frustrating. It moved, all right, but it did the same shrug over and over, as if it was a DVD stuck on a given scene. Part of living in the 21st century meant that Saira expected more from animation and she found some aspects of magic lacking. She wanted the picture to be interactive, or at least to have it talk to her. Tell her something. Explain this magic thing.

Saira felt a very strange feeling in her stomach. It wasn't quite betrayal, because she didn't blame her brother for not telling her about this magic gig. She'd as likely as not thought he'd done some bad drugs and gone a bit loony. And, if he'd proven it to her, she'd have wondered if **she'd** done some bad drugs and gone a bit loony. That was that.

–No, not betrayed. I'm jealous.— Saira sat, looking at her brother's picture. He had been her mother's firstborn and favorite, especially since his parents split when he was a young boy. Rafi told her that he only had one memory of his father—that of him coming in the doorway of their old house, finally home from work. He used to play that memory over and over again, trying to stretch it out into other scenes of family life. –Sort of like me, with this picture.— The irony wasn't lost on Saira.

Rafi had wanted to know more about his father, especially as a teenager, but her mother didn't like talking about her ex-husband much. She did manage to convince her son that she really had no idea where the man had gone, and that she wished it were otherwise for his sake. What else could Rafi do with that?

–So was it that his father was the magical one? He had all the luck.— Finding herself in a place where even 11 year old children could make pretty miraculous things happen left Saira feeling a bit inadequate. She thought it would be interesting to wave a wand and make Things happen. –Amazing things. I can't believe Rafi would stop doing magic, if he was really capable of doing it.—

She opened up the wooden box, and looked again at her brother's wand. This time, she picked it up, and twirled it in her fingers. The wood was smooth and she was surprised by the weight of it. It was so slim and light colored, she'd expected it to feel more insubstantial. Saira pointed it at her lamp, and twitched her wrist the way she'd seen some of the students do. And nothing happened. The wood remained cool and stable in her hand. –Maybe you need to say something?—

"Lights on!" she commanded the lamp. And again, nothing happened. It wouldn't have mattered if she had spoken the right words, or understood a particularly intricate spell; she was a Muggle. It annoyed her to find something that she really couldn't do, no matter how hard she put her mind to it.

–Well, didn't Dumbledore say that there's ways around magic? I'll just have to figure them out.— She nodded to herself. And then, missing her brother more than ever, she felt herself giving into a bit of a cry. He was exactly the person she wanted to talk to, and she wouldn't ever be able to do it again.


	14. The Greenhouse

"Your first job is to prepare the soil. The best tool for this is your neighbor's garden tiller.

If your neighbor does not own a garden tiller, suggest that he buy one."

-Dave Barry

* * *

Chapter 14: The Greenhouse 

On her way out of the castle, she quite nearly ran into Professor Sinistra.

"Oh, hey—whoops!" Saira backed up, narrowly avoiding the witch as they both rounded the corner.

"They should put mirrors up…" murmured Sinistra, who looked at Saira curiously, as though studying an interesting book cover and trying to decide if the text would be worth a read.

"Not a bad idea," Saira agreed. "Have you seen Professor Sprout today?"

"No, but checking the greenhouse would be a likely way of unearthing her…" Sinistra had a way of finishing her sentences that left the listener expecting more. She also, being the source of much wisdom and even more gossip, was able to provide a lengthy dose of "more," should the listener request it. All in all, she was audacious, rude, amusing, and entirely unpredictable. She made for an entertaining friend and an abysmal confidant.

"Oh?"

"Just last night, she and Flitwick made another one of their wagers. I think he's up by a galleon or so by now, but Sprout's convinced she's going to beat him at the mandrakes. And, she's likely enough to do it. He's convinced he can date their maturation by bookwork alone, but Sprout's spent so much time near the pots, she's likely to guess their inclinations. It's a wonder Dumbledore doesn't have a word with those two; their constant gambling is going to give the students some…very Muggle-ish ideas. Don't you think?" Sinistra tilted her head down towards Saira, and narrowed her eyes.

"Wouldn't know, couldn't tell you." Her answer was delivered with glibly, with a nonchalant shrug. Saira wasn't entirely certain she liked this woman.

Sinistra's eyes broadened and her smile softened into something a little less predatory. But just a little.

"Severus tells me you're quite excited to be here."

"Severus? Ah, Severus Snape. Yes." Saira couldn't easily imagine what Snape might have said about her, but "excited to be here" didn't make the likely list of prospects. "What class does he teach? I think Dumbledore mentioned it, but I had a lot on my mind at the time." –Like murdering Snape, come to think of it…—

"Potions. He was trained by the very best, and ended up being one of the youngest Potions Masters ever. He's quite good at what he does…" From Sinistra, this could be either a threat or a warning.

"Potions. Like, he mixes things up and lets people drink them?" Saira had a hilarious picture in her mind of Snape making the potions for the Alice in Wonderland movie, complete with little white pinafore.

"Something like that. He'll leave you thinking he's directly consulting the most artistic of all the gods in the process, but you've got a way of boiling it down…" Sinistra was suppressing a chuckle, and none too effectively.

"And you?" Saira was curious. "What do you teach?"

"Astronomy. Which is to say, there are days I wouldn't mind causing a few more of my students to see stars…" Again, it could have been a threat.

"Oh?"

"Let's just say it's not nearly as glamourous as Defense Against the Dark Arts, or its new instructor. I'd love a go at teaching that class, except for the unfortunately short tenure it grants…"

"Huh." Saira wasn't sure that she wanted to know why just now, as she was certain her own teaching experience would be a short one.

"At any rate, I should be off. Hooch and I are heading into town next weekend; would you like to join us?" Again, she smiled that none-too-trustworthy smile.

–Hooch? Oooh. Now _this_ could be interesting.— Saira had a feeling her cheeks were developing a faint flush. She brushed it off as casually as she could. "Sure, I'd like a chance to see more of the area. When are you going?"

"Well, seeing as how some of us like to sleep in…" here Sinistra looked amused, "what do you say to heading down for a late lunch? We'll come by your chambers and pick you up on Saturday."

"Sold. Thanks!" Saira flashed a big smile at the witch.

"And, incidentally…" Sinistra raised her arm, and pointed behind Saira, "the greenhouse is that way."

* * *

Saira hung in the doorways of the greenhouse, breathing in the warm wet smells. It could have been any greenhouse in the world, judging solely from the piles of dirt and rows of pots she saw. True, the plants shot around the room in fanciful colors and shapes; but so did the plants at the Chelsea Physics Garden. Now, she scanned the room looking just as curiously for familiar plants as for familiar faces.

"Hello, Miss Saira Hansen!" Professor Sprout's voice carried across the greenhouse floor.

Saira smiled. She felt as though she'd been instantly adopted by a long lost aunt, and the welcoming (and somewhat mulch-y) hug she was immediately swept up into did nothing to dispel that impression.

"I'm so glad you came, my dear! You must come and see our newest addition!"

Her enthusiasm was such that Saira found herself wondering how the aging witch had managed to give birth so late in her years. When they reached a particular group of pots, though, the mystery was solved.

"Isn't it darling?" Sprout's voice was quieter now, as though she was worried the plant might wake.

–Well, this **is** a nursery…— Sometimes Saira couldn't resist the obvious.

The tiny plant stood barely a foot off of the ground and was about as wide. Pale green leaves stood out in tiny clusters of three, all delicately laced with neon blue veins. At the moment it seemed to be putting all of its effort into holding up the many gigantic pink seedpods on its branches.

"What is it?" Saira asked, as she reached forward to gently touch one of the leaves.

"It's a Puffapod," Sprout began to explain, as she watched the plant bend gently around Saira's finger.

"Whoops. Oh, whoa!" In withdrawing her hand, Saira had knocked against one of the seed pods, which fell off easily. When it hit the ground, it immediately burst into fiery orange flowers at least triple the size of the pod and quite nearly as big as the plant.

"No worries, that young thing is more than happy to drop a few of them from the looks of it." Sprout picked up a trowel and patted a bit more fertilizer into the large pot containing her plant. "That's how the Puffapod is meant to flower; its blossoms are so large, the little plant couldn't possibly hold them up. So, when it's time to bloom, it sets them down."

"Oh…" Saira wondered how that worked for pollination, but figured it inevitably had a magical explanation.

"I'm glad to be getting a few more of these; their flowers are lovely, and they've got the sweetest personalities. They'll love up on you, no fear, and it's always a good day when you're working with them."

"How is it with mandrakes?" It was the only other magical plant Saira had heard of, and she was curious.

"Well, they're only seedlings just now, but even so I've got to cover my ears to water them. This year's batch is very boisterous; I'm predicting an earlier maturation than some others…" Sprout had the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks, as if she'd been caught doing something not entirely proper. Saira decided to move the conversation away from the covert gambling, for Sprout's sake.

"Will you be teaching about either of them in class?"

"Well, not so much with the Puffapods; they're more my indulgence. But I'll no doubt be putting the students to work repotting the mandrakes. In truth, I could probably work out a faster way to do it magically, but it wouldn't be as much fun."

That sounded like someone Saira knew.

"Professor Sprout—did you know my brother Rafi, when he was here?"

"Of course, dear; he was in my house!" Sprout straightened up her back and looked proud. "A delightful boy, always helpful and kind, and never any trouble on his own account." She looked at Saira kindly, with sad eyes. "I'm very sorry to hear he is no longer with us." The old witch bit her lip and sighed in a way that made Saira wonder if her brother wasn't the only recent death connected in some way to Hogwarts.

"What did he like to do, when he was here?"

Sprout closed her eyes, sifting through the years in her mind. "As I recall, he was often hanging around the owlry. If not there, he was likely at the pond. This was before we had all those grindylows living in there, and also back when students had some access to gillyweed." Sprout smiled up at Saira. "It's a plant that helps you breathe underwater," she explained.

"Huh." Saira pictured a long, hollow plant, which would allow people to do something akin to snorkeling.

Sprout continued. "Mostly, though, when he wasn't here he was busy sneaking off to Hogsmeade. He never made a big show of it, or got himself in the bother of being caught. Such a sweet boy; I believe that if he'd been directly told not to go, he wouldn't have. As it was, he could often been found in The Three Broomsticks later at night, listening to the music with his eyes closed."

Saira smiled at that, remembering the many times she'd seen Rafi on the couch, doing just that. He'd turn the stereo up to fill the whole house with music, and float off into a happy trance for hours.

"You knew he went, but didn't catch him?" Saira was interested. Sprout seemed like she might be a bit more of a stickler for the rules.

"Ah, well…" The witch's voice trailed off. "He was never any trouble, and he'd look at you with those big brown eyes…really quite the precious child. And he seemed happier when he was away from school. I don't think he ever felt like this was his home."

"Dumbledore said he wasn't too keen on magic."

"That's some of it. I think he was worried about upsetting your mother."

"Oh…" Saira had never managed to get along well with her mother. When she'd seen her at Rafi's funeral, the two of them had barely spoken. She suspected the woman would be willing to swap her children between living and dead, given the chance.

–If Rafi's father was a wizard, I bet that had a lot to do with why he and Mum split. She must have been royally upset to have a wizard for a son.—

"Do you know why my mother let him come here, if she was so against magic?"

Professor Sprout turned it over in her mind. "Likely because his being a wizard was starting to cause some problems. If magical children aren't taught how to control their talents, they can end up being quite disruptive. And when they are, well, then they learn to be even more disruptive." There was a playful wink coming from the witch.

Saira would hear Professor Sprout's words in her mind more than once throughout the school year.


	15. He'll Need Some Defense

"And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything as you like it, where rain never wets your jacket and gnats never bite your nose, and it's always daisy-time."

-D.H. Lawrence

* * *

Chapter 15: He'll Need Some Defense

The rest of her week was spent with Hagrid, helping him in his garden. Mostly they watered the pumpkins, which were already the size of your average horse.

"This year, they seem a bit sluggish; I should think they'd be bigger by now…" Hagrid looked thoughtful, as he poured out another bucket of water in the garden.

"Bigger?" Saira laughed. "Are you going to be making pie for giants?"

"No, no…I've got my reputation to consider! If we're gonna have pumpkins at the Halloween Party, we're gonna have Pumpkins. And these look a bit runty…"

Saira looked at the gigantic gourd that sprung up nearly to her head and wondered that it would look like if it were full grown. Then she looked at Hagrid, who actually did seem a little put out.

"Maybe they need some fertilizer?" Saira offered. "Sometimes, if you plant the same things over and over again in the same place, they take out too many of the nutrients in the ground."

"You don't say…well, next time Fred and George come an' visit, I'll have them bring in an order from town."

"Can't you ask Professor Sprout?"

"Well, sure, but I s'pose she doesn't have an extra few tons lyin' around. I'll not be accused of stinginess with my garden!"

Saira chuckled as the huge burly man puffed out his chest and did his best to look noble and intimidating. Hagrid held his pose for a second, and then joined her in the laugh. The two of them got along easily, but then—there were very few good people who do not get along with Hagrid.

"Hello, you two!"

"Sinistra, how are you today?" Hagrid turned over a bucket to give the witch a place to sit, which she did with a smile.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'm lovely. I just had lunch with our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

"Did you outright poison him, then?" Saira teased.

"No, but I brought along some particularly potent hellbore, just in case." Sinistra seemed serious. "At any rate, he gets to live, and I am officially calling dibs."

"Dibs?" asked Hagrid.

"Yes, dibs. Though I suspect I should direct them more at you, Professor Hansen…" Sinistra's tone was slightly mocking.

"How so?" Saira had a feeling she knew where this was going, having had similar conversations in many a Muggle bar.

"The man is as devious as he is beautiful. He's well spoken, well read, and has huge hands and feet. I've every intention of tying him to my bedposts and keeping him there, and I won't take kindly to distractions."

Saira had to lean against a pumpkin to brace herself upright as she laughed. Hagrid looked a little uncomfortable, and not entirely certain if he was allowed to join in the joke.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't see myself hopping into the wizarding dating pool in the foreseeable future." Saira managed to push out the sentence in between her laughter.

"Excellent."

"What's his name, again?" Hagrid looked thoughtful.

"Saul Kentaro. He's from the Lake Victoria region, and has been studying classical forms of magical defense in Kampala. Dumbledore had his background completely checked out before he came here. Clean as a whistle, except for where it's not. And where it's not is why he's here."

"Oh?" Saira wasn't sure how failing a background check could act as a job qualification.

"He is one of the finest dueling wizards of our time. He's got an innovative style of fighting with magic and movement; the students are going to love this."

"Huh…" Hagrid looked a little cautious.

"Oh, and speaking about magic and movement—Hooch got called in as an emergency referee this weekend. Seems one of the major league teams accidentally crashed into the usual guy, and she's the backup. And since she was out, I was hoping you wouldn't mind if Saul and I went off alone together…" Sinistra batted her huge green eyes in Saira's direction.

–Drat. Oh well.— "No, no—go for it. Have fun. Someone around here should be getting some."

Sinistra laughed. "I fully intend on getting more than just 'some.'"

After Sinistra had went on her way, Saira asked Hagrid if he'd met the new professor.

"Well, yes. Good man, he is. Not the sort I'd want takin' this job."

"Why?"

"Errr…" Hagrid shifted in weight. "Not to worry you none; it's jus' that no one ever lasts more than a year."

"Do they die?" Saira didn't like the sound of this.

"No, not necessarily. Sometimes. Well, we'll see, won't we?" Hagrid did not seem overly confident, which left Saira hoping that Sinistra knew what she was getting herself into.


	16. Smooth Seas Make Lousy Sailors

The problem to be faced is: how to combine loyalty to one's own tradition with reverence for different traditions.

-Abraham Heschel

* * *

Chapter 16: Smooth Seas Make Lousy Sailors 

It was her second day of teaching, but only the first day she'd actually shown up for class. The thought made Saira smile. So, too, did watching the pile of parchment on her desk grow, as students handed in their best guess as to what she'd done last week. She hoped a few might guess right. She looked up as one of her students cleared his throat, carefully placing his homework on her desk.

"Mr. Longbottom." She smiled.

"Hi, Professor Hansen." Neville didn't look too sure of himself, but he barreled ahead, anyways. "I'm still really sorry about the cart; I didn't realize you were our professor, on top of it. I promise, I didn't mean to do it…" His voice trailed as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

She was puzzled. He'd already apologized, and why on earth would she think he'd meant to run her over on purpose?

"No hard feelings, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville smiled, relieved, and headed back towards his desk.

Since Saira's weekend plans to travel to Hogsmeade had been cancelled, she'd spent a lot of time talking to Hagrid and reading up on Hogwarts history. Learning her brother had been in Hufflepuff had made her want to know everything about it. Only, most everything about it seemed…well, boring. It didn't sound much like Rafi, either, and she wondered how often a person really represented their house, and nothing but their house. Maybe the sorting hat (which she pictured as a red baseball cap, not yet being acquainted with the real item) had picked up on his disinterest in magic, and placed him there because of that?

Now, as she surveyed her classroom, she began to notice how the students grouped together by their houses. And, while she did see some intermixing, not too much of it involved the students of Slytherin, identified by the green on their robes. –Very interesting…— She wondered how many of them agreed with their founder and his dislike of all things non-Magical. –Things non-Magical…like me.—

"Today, class, you see the syllabus on the desk in front of you. I'm going to begin by discussing the shaping of relatively current Muggle perceptions of magic. Key people will include Julia Phillips, David Copperfield, and Christopher Marlowe. It is important for you to understand that Muggles may have a wide spectrum of responses when exposed to magic, from disbelief, to acceptance, to outright condemnation. If, in the course of your travels, you find it necessary to be amongst Muggles, it is important you keep this in mind. Now, the association of negative connotations with magic began—"

"How DARE you!"

Saira looked to her left and met the angry glare of a very blonde boy. She walked around to the front of her desk to get a better look at him, and took in the fact that he had a wand in his hand. –What _exactly_ can they do with those, I wonder?— She folded her arms across her waist, watched, and waited.

It was apparent the boy had been expecting a bit more of a response from her, and had prepared to take part in an ever escalating confrontation. His friends, bless their enterprising little hearts, seemed to have other ideas.

"Sit down, Malfoy!" hissed a stony faced girl with green trim on her robes. "Dumbledore is—" her voice dropped to a whisper Saira couldn't hear, but the actual content appeared to be relatively useless. Malfoy, of the Draco variety, merely threw a sneer of distain back at his dorm mate.

"Don't tell me you're going to let a MUGGLE malign Magic in class? And encourage the persecution of witches and wizards! Who does she think she is?" Draco's voice had a high pitched, almost hysterical quality to it.

"I'm the professor. And, I am suggesting that you might want to sit down and discuss this calmly." Saira, in a rare showing of restraint, didn't budge from her desk.

Draco wasn't feeling particularly calm. "It's ridiculous for US to be taught by one of YOUR kind. What should we care what Muggles think of us, when _they're_ responsible for years of persecuting us? My father is on his way to Hogwarts to deal with you!"

–Little weasel can't even stand up for himself without daddy?— "Your father can be anywhere he likes, but for now **you** are on your way out of the classroom. You will return 10 minutes after class has ended, and we will discuss whether or not you will continue taking this class then. Out." Her last word was punctuated with a gesture to the door.

Draco Malfoy had the look of one who had never been kicked out of class before. In fact, he hadn't. Being encouraged to leave class wasn't a practice particularly common at Hogwarts, excepting necessary trips to Madame Pomfoy. Most of the professors would simply clench their wand a bit tighter and let their lips go a bit looser, but Saira didn't have that option. With this in mind, it's fair to believe that Malfoy considered himself the victor of this first altercation as he marched to the front of the classroom.

–Reminds me of someone else, that straight backed walk…— Saira noticed the mimicry of Snape's actions.

"Aren't you coming?" Draco turned to look at his two benchmates, both large, lumbering boys. The two looked at each other warily for confirmation, and then began to get out of their seats.

"Sit!" Saira's voice found the ceiling at that point, and her darkest glare slammed full force into Crabbe and Goyle. Stunned and confused, they did just that.

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed his chin up, continuing on his way out of the room. He attempted to slam the door on his way out, but a very quiet _clementia foris_ was whispered from somewhere in the room and the effect was completely muted. Saira turned towards the sound and noticed a dark haired Ravenclaw girl studiously examining the wood grain of her desk, the faintest outline of a wand evident at the tip of her sleeve. –Well. What do you know? They aren't all about to try and turn me into a frog.—

She leaned against her desk, watching the class for a thoughtful second before she continued. "As we were: the association of negative connotations began…"

Whatever discontent remained in the class simmered slowly and silently for the remainder of the hour.

* * *

When class ended the students began filing out, some quicker than others. "Crabbe! Goyle! Here, now!" Saira's voice carried easily, though this time it had a slightly more pleasant ring to it. Slightly. She already knew enough to keep her sentences to them brief and to the point, so they couldn't confuse them for anything but direct orders.

As she'd given the students time to copy down her lecture notes from the board, she'd thumbed through the facebook and eyed the images of the dull looking lads whose names were written in Dumbledore's neat script. The writing looked too formal for their faces, which were almost painfully devoid of thought even in photograph.

The two of them lumbered towards the front of the room. From the corner of her eye, Saira saw Ron Weasley standing with two of his friends, watching. She thought briefly about encouraging them along, but then decided it might be best to "not notice" them. She wasn't yet entirely sure what sort of trouble magical teenagers might get themselves into, and she didn't want to be on the defenseless receiving end of it. –And if Ron's anything like his brothers, he'll be for owing me a good turn.—

Crabbe and Goyle stared down at her sullenly with all the grace of stoned linebackers. They were large for their age, both vertically and horizontally. Before she began speaking, Saira had to force out of her mind an image of them wearing furs and dragging clubs about in place of their wands. –They're still young, the little berks…there might yet be hope.—

"Disruptions in class won't be tolerated. Any more from you, and you can speak with the Headmaster about making this class period up elsewhere. I believe Hagrid needs some help feeding something akin to a yeti, if you're interested. No? Well then, off with you both." She kept it short, not giving them the chance to talk. –Thank you, Hagrid, for your stories about magical creatures…—

She had a few more minutes before Draco would return to class, though she didn't yet know exactly what to say to him. She turned to look at Ron and his friends, the dark haired boy with glasses and the proper-looking girl with a curly mop of long hair.

"Professor Hansen, this here's Harry, and this is Hermione. We're all glad you're here teaching us about Muggles." Ron spoke a bit louder than he had to, as though he wanted the retreating backs of Crabbe and Goyle to hear what he was saying.

–What on earth is it with this Muggle thing? There are so many non-magical people; more of us than magical ones, I bet. What's the big deal here?— But, that didn't seem like the sort of thought one should share with students.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet your friends, Ron. What did you three end up guessing, as the solution to last week's puzzle?" It seemed like a safe, professor-y thing to say.

Hermione was first to respond. "You couldn't have been in the room, to begin with. I think you had someone help you; someone who used a simple _specularis_ style charm. Only, I'm not sure what you used as your mirror source."

Saira's smile spread across her whole face. Ron and Harry both groaned.

"Not what either of you guessed?" Saira asked.

"Er, not quite." Harry grinned and shook his head, and Ron just glared at Hermione. Hermione made a quick face at Ron, which Saira only barely caught.

"We were leaning more towards the 'disappearing hole in the ground' theory," admitted Ron.

"But, I told you; **that** would have placed her almost directly in Snape's office." Hermione shook her head at the boys. "He's not about to just let people come traipsing in there."

Saira had to agree. She smiled. "All right, you three. I've got a meeting with a student in just a minute, and I suspect you should all be off. And, Hermione—it's a lovely day out, don't you think?"

It was actually letting off a faint drizzle, and sky through the window looked a dismal grey. But, as Hermione looked at the glass plane with its water dripping down it, her eyes lit up. "Oh, it's so obvious!" The girl looked both pleased to know more of the answer, and a bit annoyed she hadn't figured it out herself. Harry and Ron glanced between each other, and shrugged. They'd no doubt hear all about it in just a little while, whether they wanted to or not.

The three of them had scarcely left the classroom when the so recently mentioned Severus Snape walked into it.


	17. Rule One: Don't Trust Lucius

"Money often costs too much." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

* * *

Chapter 17: Rule One: Don't Trust Lucius 

Saira felt her stomach drop a level when she met the baleful glare of the Potions professor. He managed to convey distain, annoyance, and a distinct undercurrent of malevolence without having to say a word. –Well, there is that small matter of whacking him about the head, isn't there?—

Trailing behind Snape looking like a prissy little lap dog was a smug looking Draco. Saira mentally gave him some credit for his choice of alliance. Looking at the boy somewhat more clearheadedly, she was struck by just how beautiful he was. With a slight build and fine, fair features, he looked every bit the part of an elegant, magical aristocrat. –He's got to have all the girls looking, and more than a few of the boys to boot. What a shame he's got the personality of a screech monkey.—

"It seems you are neglecting your duties as an instructor, _Professor_ Hansen." Snape sneered through the title, as though he found it unbearably ridiculous.

"Oh?" Saira decided to let him burn through the script he appeared to be cultivating.

"Ignoring the concerns of one of your students? Banishing a student from the classroom, so he has no exposure to the day's lesson? Though assuming there is anything like a worthwhile lesson occurring here requires a notable stretch of the imagination."

Saira watched the tall wizard speak noticing how tired he looked already, this second week into the year. –What's he moonlighting as, a bartender? 'Potions,' indeed!— There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, reminding her of a friend she'd once helped through detox. His eyes, which she'd initially taken as dark brown, were actually black. –And, if the eyes are the windows to the soul…—

"Why, Professor Snape, thank you for your concerns over Mr. Malfoy. I find it heartwarming when an instructor takes such an interest in one of his students." Saira plastered on her brightest and fakest smile, the one that conveyed dislike most clearly. Draco shifted uneasily, not exactly sure where the conversation was headed. Snape merely narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to continue speaking.

Saira cut him off. "Mr. Malfoy informed me earlier that his father was on his way here for the parent-teacher meeting I was going to request; it appears that fortune telling is in his family's abilities. Perhaps after the three of us have reached an agreeable solution to _our_ problem, I will come discuss its resolution with you." –Does that say "my teaching style is none of your damn business" clearly enough, I wonder?—

Snape's expression transformed before her eyes. While he had initially glowered irritation at being interrupted, he now looked almost pleased. Anticipatory, even. –Oh gods, what have I just said? Don't tell me this boy gets more than his looks from his father…—

"An unexpectedly satisfactory idea, Professor Hansen. Draco, I trust your father will grant me the pleasure of his company before he leaves Hogsmeade. We have some old business to sort."

Draco nodded with all the self importance he could muster. It was quite a bit.

–Old business? Shit and throw me in it. He's friends with Draco's father? But why am I surprised?— Saira did her best to keep her face perfectly still, trying to conceal the uncertainty she felt as Severus Snape gave a mocking half bow and left. Though not a sound emanated from his gliding figure, he gave the impression of one who was whistling a cheerful tune.

Squelching her misgivings, she turned to Draco.

"What are your concerns about being taught by a Muggle?" She figured being direct was the best route.

Draco's expression was baleful and his words laced with the subtlest tinge of disgust. "Muggles have caused wizards endless troubles. Rasputin, Joan of Arc, Nostradamus—every great witch or wizard who has dealt openly with Muggles has been ridiculed, tortured, or worse. And to have one of you teaching us! This is absurd. I can't believe Dumbledore made your nonsense class required; he's really losing his touch."

Saira was surprised by the hate she saw flashing in the young man's eyes. –Someone had to teach him to think this way. This isn't right.—

"What would you rather learn?" She kept her voice level.

Draco eyed her suspiciously, trying to find the trap in her words. Either finding none, or not concerned with the consequences, he answered. "Potions, Defense Against Dark Arts, Dueling—things we actually _need_ to know to Succeed in the world."

–So he hates people who can't do magic. Doesn't want to know a darn thing about us. How can I convince this boy…?—

"Draco, do you have any enemies? Anyone you truly dislike, I mean?" Saira decided on a bit of psychology.

When Draco didn't respond, she took his silence as an affirmation.

"If you were to duel with that person, would it make strategic sense to go barreling in without any idea of their fighting style, their capabilities, or their weaknesses?"

Draco shook his head sullenly: no.

"If you truly dislike non-magical people, I doubt I'll be able to change your mind. But, seeing how powerful wizards before you have fared at the hands of Muggles, maybe it's best that you understand them, so that you can better protect yourself."

"I don't need protection from Muggles." Draco didn't look too impressed by her argument. Then, suddenly, as if an idea had only just occurred to him, his face lightened.

–Cripes, is he thinking that he's going to learn to destroy Muggles? Is that why he looks so smug? You're using a piss-poor line of argument here, Madam Professor…better think of something else, fast.—

"Perhaps for an independent project, you could analyze the life of an important witch or wizard who lived among Muggles and look at what could have been differently to keep that person alive?"

"That would mean continuing to waste my time in this ridiculous class, which I do not intend to do." All of Draco's insolence was back in full force.

"_Au contraire_, my boy…" A smooth, measured voice came from the hallway.

Saira and Draco both looked out to see Lucius Malfoy approaching, with Dumbledore behind him. Strangely, it was Lucius who had spoken.

Saira stared at the man with white blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He had to be Draco's father. His face was all angles, cut severely in a manner she found intimidating. She didn't like feeling intimidated.

"Professor Hansen? I am Lucius Malfoy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance; Dumbledore has done nothing but sing your praises since I arrived." Lucius bent forward, took Saira's hand, and touched his lips to it in an elegant and practiced manner. "I am most sorry to hear my son has been the cause of any grief to you." His robes looked as though they'd been woven out of gemstones. They probably had been.

Saira trusted the man about as far as she could throw him, and shotput had never been her strong point. Still, he was saying what she had hoped a parent might think, and there was a chance he might be able to diffuse this situation with Draco. Draco, for his part, was looking at his father with his mouth slightly ajar, in the manner of a goldfish.

"I can assure both you and the headmaster that there will be no further disruptions from my son. I beg your forgiveness for my hastiness, but I wish to speak with Draco alone for some time, to better instruct him on some matters. Headmaster." Here Lucius nodded curtly. "Professor." He bowed from the waist, his back straight.

"Come, Draco."

Trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking stunned, Draco followed his father out of the classroom. Dumbledore watched them go, his face inscrutable.

"What just happened?" Saira asked, only now aware that Lucius had done all the talking.

"Nothing good, I fear…" Dumbledore's voice was soft. "I suspect there will be quite a bit more to this."

Saira felt inclined to agree, though she couldn't figure out precisely why. After all, hadn't Lucius been entirely polite and accommodating?

"I'm sorry if I lost my temper, Headmaster. I wasn't sure how else to discipline him."

"No, you were perfectly within your bounds to ask him to leave the room, and you may always send him to my office if necessary. I'm afraid this altercation was inevitable. In the future, you may take points off of his house, if you choose to."

"Take points off of his house?"

"Yes, the four houses compete each year. Points are awarded for accomplishments, and subtracted for misbehaviour."

"But I've no complaints about his housemates; why should they suffer on his account?"

"Some of us feel that house loyalties may encourage our students to do the right thing when common sense alone fails them. Either way, it is at your discretion."

Saira remembered the girl who had tried to stop Draco from his outburst, and how well that had worked.

"I think I'll have to come up with something else. You do detentions here, I assume?"

"Of course." There was a faint glimmering of a twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. "Magical or not, students seem to be remarkable similar in their affinity for rebellion. And we, I fear, are remarkably predictable in our desire to squelch it."

Saira smiled. She hadn't yet decided if she was able to believe everything Dumbledore said, but she couldn't help liking the man.

"One more thing, professor..."

Saira raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I have taken it upon myself to notify your closest friends and family that you are currently travelling through Africa and unable to maintain contact with them. I thought it might be wise to give you a sort of alibi, should you wish to leave here someday."

"Oh." She blinked. Why hadn't she thought that might be important, before now? She remained pretty convinced that, hallucination or not, she preferred this strange world to her own at the minute. But if that changed?

"Thank you," she managed, and the headmaster nodded kindly in her direction as he went, no doubt, to try and follow up on Lucius and Draco.

After he left, she scooped the pile of parchments into her bag. –What a day. It sure doesn't pay to come to class. Maybe next week I should work out another disappearing scheme. The solution will be called "Muggle Professor Hops on Train and Heads Home."—

And, as drained as Saira felt, there was still one last thing left to do.

* * *

"Hello Severus, darling." 

Saira leaned her shoulder against the doorframe to his office, doing her best to look casual. As opposed to murderous, which was more in keeping with her current feelings.

"'Professor Snape' will suffice, I assure you." The wizard didn't even look up from the book he was lazily perusing at his desk.

Saira stepped in and closed the book in his hands.

"I don't believe I invited you into my office, Professor. Is it still 'Professor,' or has Dumbledore come to his senses?"

"He remains very much in contact with them, and I remain very much a member of the staff for yet another week."

"It appears I have done something in a past life to make the gods despise me." Snape glared his trademark expression.

"Just as likely it was this one. Have you a dog?"

"A dog?"

"Or perhaps a cat?"

"Is there a reason you continue with this trite prattle and neglect to leave my office?"

"Perhaps, if you are looking for a pet or familiar of some sort, you would be better occupied scouring the barnyard and avoiding the classrooms. As much as Mr. Malfoy is a difficult student, I see no reason for you to encourage his hateful proclivities."

"I have very little to do with what Draco Malfoy thinks or does. And, if he appears to share my sentiments regarding an individual's inadequacy as an instructor, I should think you deserve the credit." Snape's tone was cold.

"Perhaps, though it is to your office I will be directing the press when the boy grows into a man who throws spells at Muggle-passerbys in the tube."

Snape regarded her warily, then snorted in exasperation. "Kindly take your nonsense out of my office, before I am forced to place wards on it specifically designed to haze out any sort of mind numbing irritation."

He appeared to be seriously considering this idea.

"I assure you this visit is all business and no pleasure. A simple way of ensuring you see far less of me is to keep your beak out of my business—though given its size, that might be difficult."

Saira stormed out before Severus could respond. Had she been a fly on the wall, she might have appreciated the fact that the seething wizard involuntarily raised a hard to his nose before he huffed noisily and re-opened the book he'd been reading.

And then, despite everyone's best intentions, life began to settle into some sort of normal pattern at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.


	18. Bright Ideas

"If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws…" –Abigail Adams

* * *

Chapter 18: Bright Ideas

"Harry, Ron—I've got it!" Hermione came rushing out of the library, nearly knocking boys off their feet.

"Got what, the bloody runs?" groaned Ron, still sore from Quidditch practice. After a full 3 hours of sitting on a broom in the pouring rain, he was more than ready to shower off, eat up, and pass out. The look in Hermione's eyes suggested she had other plans.

"I know how we can stop Voldemort from attacking the Muggles."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You know he's using other Muggles to do it, right?"

"That's just it. And he has to pay them. In Muggle money. Do you follow?"

Ron sighed, kissing his evening goodbye.

Harry just looked puzzled. "Well, yes. I mean, no, I don't follow, but what's so surprising about the Muggle money? Muggles aren't likely to stroll into Gringotts to cash their checks, not unless they've got magical family with them. And I can't imagine Voldemort wants any more Muggles here than absolutely necessary."

"Exactly, Harry." Hermione looked pleased, so, while Harry had no idea just what "exactly" he had said right, he wisely kept silent on the matter.

"That means they use an English bank to disperse payments. And, I've done a bit of research into the matter, between what the Ministry let slip and the news reports, and I've found that Voldemort's been traced to Standard Bank, in London. That's what he's been using to make payments. And, he's precise about them, paying off all of his accounts the first of every month."

Ron frowned, suspicious. "Hermione, where did you learn that? There's no way the Ministry could know when Voldemort makes his payments; that'd be pretty classified stuff."

Hermione responded in a way neither of the boys expected: she blushed, and looked at her feet. "Drat, I thought I was getting better at that…"

"At that?" Ron looked dubious.

"Oh, er…at lying." Hermione shrugged. "I thought it might be useful, you know, to at least be capable of it. Every now and then."

"Out with it, 'Mione." Harry folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back contentedly against the wall. If he wasn't about to go back to the Gryffindor common room, he was about to see what Hermione had really been up to these first few weeks at school. He sorted through his mind, trying to see if anyone unusual had been occurring…and all that he could come up with was that Hermione had been getting an unusually large amount of mail from home. But, with her parents under constant watch and her vocal concerns about their well being, that hadn't seemed too odd. Until now.

Hermione threw up her hands, giving in. She didn't much like lying, anyways, and she'd been meaning to tell her friends this for some time: "I have a Muggle boyfriend."

"Oh." The boys looked at each other, and shrugged. "Okay."

"I wasn't sure we'd stay together after the summer ended, but we have, so far, and he's really wonderful and I'm sure you both would like him."

"He knows you're a witch, then?" Harry was curious.

"Yes! And he thinks it's pretty cool." Hermione smiled.

"He believes you?" Ron had heard so many students tell stories about their families, and the responses Muggles had given to being told about magic, that he surprised to hear Hermione brush it off so easily.

"Well, yes. Yes he does. He didn't really, not at first, but I've been able to convince him. And I think he's a little envious, to be honest."

"Huh." Harry smiled. "Well good for you."

"Yeah, good for you, 'Mione," Ron agreed. "All the usual rules apply, of course. He's rude to you, or expects too much, or generally wanks off in any way, and we kill him—right Harry?"

"Right, Ron."

"And Hermione—?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"How does having a Muggle boyfriend mean that you know anything about Voldemort's bank account?"

"Oh, that. Right." Hermione let a grin cross her face. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Sure!" Harry responded, and they both nodded adamantly.

"Nigel is a computer hacker."

"A what?" asked Harry.

"Nigel?" grinned Ron.

"Bug off, Ron." Hermione looked at him sternly. "A computer hacker can get into company databases and records, and find out all sorts of interesting things. He showed me how, a few times this summer, but it would take a bit of studying up before I could do it myself."

"That, and a computer," Ron suggested.

"Right. So you can see why we need Nigel in on this."

"On what?" Harry felt himself getting dizzy at the way Hermione's mind was moving.

"On stopping Voldemort, of course." Hermione looked at the two boys expectantly, but they were staring at her with blank expressions. "Think about it. Voldemort only had these Muggles working for him because they're getting paid, and getting paid well. From what Professor Hansen's been saying, Muggle crime families work on principles of trust. Once you break that trust, they're more likely to kill you than forgive you."

Professor Hansen had spouted off on the origin of the Mafia just last week. Her lecture had explained how organized crime had only recently moved to having such a strong emphasis on profit, and that old ideas of honor and retribution still tinged a great deal of Mafiosi business practice. Apparently, Hermione had been listening.

"Okay, but we can't very well go into London and close Voldemort's bank account, can we? And we can't use the TM to bankrupt it, either, not without a card," Ron pointed out.

"It's an ATM, Ron…" Hermione grinned. "But you're right. And anyways, clearing out his account in London wouldn't do any good, Nigel looked into it. He's got automatic withdrawals being sent directly from Gringotts to cover all of his Muggle related expenses. It seems like the staff at Standard Bank haven't noticed or don't care what Gringotts is, so long as the money keeps flowing in."

Harry looked disappointed. "Well, there goes that idea."

"No, that's just it. That is the idea." Hermione looked triumphant.

"Umm…" Ron started.

"We have to stop the cash flow. We have to bankrupt the account Voldemort is using at Gringotts."


	19. Rallying the Troops

In politics, strangely enough, the best way to play your cards is to lay them face upwards on the table.

-H.G. Wells

* * *

Chapter 19: Rallying the Troops 

Harry and Ron glanced at each other nervously.

"Ah, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

Ron reached out and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. "No fever."

"Her color looks good," agreed Harry.

"Maybe it's a chemical issue?" suggested Ron.

"I am not crazy!" Hermione snapped. "Look, it's the best idea I have. And I already know how we're going to do it."

"You mean _oui_?" Ron looked pale. "Please tell me Nigel's French, and you've been picking it up some phrases along the way."

"Yes, we!" Hermione looked exasperated. "Nigel looked at routing numbers and figured out the vault Voldemort's using. 653. So all Harry has to do is go to the bank until he figures out the location of vault 653, we'll get into it, and I can handle it from there."

Ron looked interested for a minute. "Think Nigel would teach me anything about this 'hacking' business?"

"It's extremely illegal, Ron."

"Hermione…what are you doing dating a guy who's into illegal stuff?" Harry looked concerned, and not altogether disinclined to turn the subject away from breaking into Gringotts.

"Oh, he's not usually hacking for bad things. Companies pay him to try and hack into their systems, and then he helps them make their systems stronger. He's using it for a good purpose."

"But you convinced him to do this? And he could go to jail for it?" Ron looked skeptical for a second, then gasped in understanding. "You're putting out, aren't you!"

Harry howled out a torrent of laughter as Hermione turned a deep, purply red.

"That, Mr. Weasley, is precisely none of your business." She was lifting her wand, as though she might hex him silent.

"Is he any good?" Harry this time.

"HARRY!"

"Okay, okay…forget I asked. But, anytime you feel like answering…" Harry stared up at the ceiling as though there was something fascinating lurking in the latticework. He didn't think it would be a good idea to meet Hermione's eyes this very minute.

Truth be told, both of the boys were a little envious. Not of Nigel; they'd been friends with Hermione for so long, the idea of dating her was incestuous. Ron had nursed a crush on her once, but it was slowly killed over the course of her helping him finish his Transfiguration homework for the 400th time. The point was that neither of them had been lucky enough to score yet and, being teenage boys, they spent the greater part of their time thinking up inventive ways to change that. To be beaten to the glorious punch line by Hermione, who they'd always thought of as the threesome's straight man, was a humbling experience. At least they'd have someone to ask for tips, should they ever get lucky.

After a minute, Hermione lowered her wand and grinned. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less. And anyways, I'd rather talk about it with you two than Lavender, anyway."

"Does that mean we get details?" Ron looked hopeful.

"The hell it doesn't!" Hermione, to replace her virginity, had acquired some more bawdy vocabulary this summer. "It does mean that I let you live. This time."

"I think you've been reading too much about Muggle Mobsters," Ron rolled his eyes.

"Speaking of which," began Harry, bringing the conversation back to Gringotts, "I don't suppose your research has turned up any advice on getting past the hundred or so goblins on guard? Or the host of trolls, dragons, and what-have-yous they're rumoured to let wander about the underground tunnels?"

"Easy enough. Ron and I will wear your invisibility cloak."

"What about me?" Harry looked irritated.

"You are going to be going to your vault. You can take your broom over to Diagon Alley. It will be just a regular trip for you—in, out, and home." Hermione spoke firmly, the scenario already well worked out in her mind. "And you'll be going once a week until you've mapped out the route to Voldemort's vault from your own vault, and then back out to the main bank."

"Mapped out?"

"Ron and I are only going with you once. And we aren't jumping off a high speed Goblinmobile as we go past Voldemort's vault. We'll get off when you stop at your own, and walk the distance. According to the library, there are approximately 7 miles of underground tunnels containing the vaults, so it won't be too long." Here, Ron snorted his disagreement, but Hermione continued. "The problem is that there are numerous twists and turns, and we need very precise directions."

"And if that's Harry's job, what am I supposed to do?" If Hermione was going to haul him into this mess, Ron thought he might as well know what she had in mind.

"Two things. One, is talk to Charlie about the dragon issue, and what he thinks is likely to be down there. Maybe he's got some ideas on defense, if we stumble into them." Ron and Harry both paled at the idea of "stumbling into" a dragon.

"And the other thing…" Hermione looked at Ron and smiled. "Don't think I didn't see you sneaking back from the kitchen the other night."

"So?" Ron looked defensive. "It was late, and I was hungry."

"Yeah, but the kitchen was looked."

Ron looked as though he understood what she had in mind, but that he wasn't too pleased with the idea.

"Ron Weasley, you are the only person I can think of who's clever enough to get past the three padlocks of house-elves, all specifically charmed against letting students in, plus the alarm system Dumbledore himself helped create."

"Like I said, I was hungry."

"Great. Because you're going to use that skill to get us into the vault."

Ron looked daunted. It wasn't altogether impossible, but it meant he's be spending some serious time researching and practicing some pretty advanced spells. On the other hand, you could never tell when a skill like that could come in useful in life, as there were many locked kitchens in the world. Of course, there was a pesky rumour that warned anyone Not a Goblin who attempted to open a high security vault would find themselves sucked into the door, never to emerge. Which begged the question: would that be any worse than saying no to Hermione?

"So, what do you think?" Hermione looked from one to the other of them, hopefully. Harry thought for a second, then gave a brief nod of assent. The two of them turned to Ron and waited.

"Looks like Gringotts is going to be getting a few more 'knuts,'" he murmured.

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Wish I'd just cut out this whole attempt at a plot and write the sex scenes? (Sorry, no dice... ;-) ) Review! Please? Especially if you have some helpful advice.

I think I've hit my quota for sentence fragments today.


	20. Duck, Duck, Goose

"Le sens commun n'est pas si commun."

-Voltaire

Thank you very very very much to those who've commented. You're all so sweet. :-)

* * *

Chapter 20: Duck, Duck, Goose 

"Professor Hansen?"

"Yes, Neville?" Saira looked up from the stack of parchments she was sorting through.

"I was wondering about something you said in class yesterday."

"Sure, how can I help you?"

"Well, about dancing."

Saira had been talking about the history of rock and roll and how music had been correlated with magic in ways both positive and negative, depending on if you were a teenager, a parent, or a religious fanatic. The main point of the lecture had focused on religion as a Muggle magical construct, and it didn't really seem as though "dancing" should be what a student might come to her office hours to ask about.

"How so, Neville?" She gave him the benefit of doubt.

"Well, you mentioned that you happened to like dancing quite a bit…I was wondering if you might teach me?" Neville's face had broken out in a nervous sweat, and he was staring at the tops of his enormous shoes.

Saira's first inclination, knowing first hand what she did of Neville's body coordination, was to say no. Not to mention she wasn't sure how appropriate it was for her to be waltzing around the classroom with a student. But this was Neville, and the fact that he'd managed to work up enough courage to ask was strangely endearing. She had what could only be described as an idiotic soft spot for the boy. The spot was likely located in her head, about where she'd slammed into the ground on his account.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Well, the Halloween feast is coming up and there will be dancing there." He had added a rosy blush to the sheen present on his face.

"Anyone in particular you plan on dancing with?" Saira couldn't resist, but she kept her voice kind.

Neville looked up to meet her eyes, and this time he had no hesitation. "Yes. Kate Cirrus. She's in Ravenclaw."

Saira closed her eyes to place the name with a face. She smiled when she realized he was talking about the brown haired girl in the third row. The one who'd thrown a spell at the door when Draco had left the room, but hadn't said anything out of turn since then. She sat with her two of her housemates everyday and it was the both of them who did most of the talking.

"She seems like a nice girl." Saira answered. "I suppose we could work on a dance, for the sake of her toes." She winked at Neville, who laughed in relief as much as acknowledgement.

Saira continued. "What do you say to Thursday afternoon for a first go at it? I've got a bit of work to catch up on just now."

Neville smiled and nodded. "Thank you. I'll be there!"

Saira watched him leave the room, bumping into the doorframe as he passed through. –Oh dear. What have I agreed to?—

* * *

Dumbledore surveyed his staff, waiting for a volunteer. 

"All right, Albus. I'll do it." Minerva McGonagall sighed, and threw up her hands. "But I swear, this is the absolute last time I'm going to be in charge of decorating the Great Hall. And you're still on deck to do the ceiling, or so help you…"

"Yes, yes, Minerva. Splendid!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together, looking delighted. He had every right to be pleased. Another year had gone by, and he had managed to delegate most of the business of the Halloween feast to his coworkers. Given that he was busy juggling any number of other affairs, it was entirely practical that he do this. Still, it was a bit of coup, given who he was dealing with.

"Are you absolutely certain it's necessary I be there?" Snape growled.

"But Severus, you're such a splendid chaperone!" Flitwick, who had gotten put on "pumpkin transport duty" for the second year running, was not about the let anyone else weasel out of their tasks.

"I imagine all he needs to do is approach, and whatever amorous young couple sees him will immediately lose their libido…" Saira spoke softly so only Snape could hear. She'd gotten quite good at modulating her voice.

"Eh?" It was Flitwick.

"Oh, I agree with you. Severus is perfect for the job," Saira enthused.

Snape didn't look in her direction, but Saira could tell he'd heard her remark by the subtle stiffening of his neck. The two of them could not be in the same room without antagonizing each other. Far from her continued employment earning a bit of a truce between them, they had declared covert warfare.

Dumbledore continued. "I want to remind you that this year, as always, you each may bring up to two guests. Your company is your responsibility, but I'm sure you all have friends Hogwarts will be honored to host."

"Friends, Hansen...meaning people who _choose_ to be around you. In your case, an unlikely phenomena." Snape's voice hissed into her ear as a small spell perched on her shoulder.

"Take care and arrange to pay your ladyguest at the _end_ of the evening, Severus; otherwise she's likely to make her escape as the punch is being stirred."

"Any further questions?" Dumbledore waited. "No? Well then, onto the last issue on the agenda. I remind you all to safeguard your stores carefully, as it appears someone has been pilfering from the greenhouse."

Sprout nodded. "I'm missing some Monkshood. There may be others I haven't yet noticed. Filius and I put some more convincing wards on the place, though. Shouldn't have anymore troubles on my end." There were some nods from around the room.

"Does anyone have something else to add?" The headmaster paused. "Well then, this meeting is adjourned." Dumbledore smiled, bidding them a good night.

* * *

For Saira, it promised to be just that. She'd arranged to slip over to Hagrid's for a drink with him and the Weasley twins as soon as the faculty meeting was over, and she was looking forward to seeing them all. Hagrid had begged out of the meeting on account of a sudden and unexpected injury he claimed to have incurred from one of his pets. Saira didn't quite buy the alibi, supposing instead that her friend enjoyed discussions about lesson plans and faculty duties about as much as she did. That, and the Weasleys had brought some fertilizer for his garden. 

It took her a good 20 minutes to get out of the castle, which was by no means unusual. –Dratted staircases; I swear they're all against me.— By now she wasn't so easily lost, but they did seem to thwart her on a regular basis. When she was in a hurry, she took flying leaps from one to the other to save time. She hoped the students wouldn't catch her.

As she approached the main door she saw an inky shadow moving in front of her. –Snape. What's _he_ doing here?— She watched through the window as the Potions professor made his way outside in his deliberate manner, heading down the main path. –Maybe he really _is_ going to go hire a girl for the feast?— Saira savoured the wicked jibe, even if she couldn't inflict it on him.

She slipped out of the castle quietly and walked off to the side. –No good having Mr. Congeniality see me, now is there?— Where the path branched off to head towards the town, Snape made an unexpected turn. He was heading…towards Hagrid's? Saira's mood plummeted at the thought of having to spend the evening with him. Even so, his steps moved closer to the hut.

Then, glancing over his shoulder, he paused. Saira froze behind the trees she'd been passing through and watched. He didn't have the manner of a man who expected to be followed, merely one who thought it was wise to occasionally keep an eye out. Seeing no one, he abruptly left the path, wrapping his dark robes more tightly around him.

Saira followed by way of Hagrid's garden (which, incidentally, _did_ appear to be newly turned over and well watered…). She had a hard time following him in the twilight, as he blended so well with the surroundings. She paused at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She'd lost him.

–What's he going in there for at night, anyways? The granting of a death wish?— Though she'd stepped into its bounds a few times with Hagrid, Saira had never felt any desire to explore it on her own. This was no ordinary clump of trees.

Puzzled, she made her way back to Hagrid's hut. She's probably find out what he was up to one way or another. –Maybe I'll ask Sinistra…— she mused.


	21. Deep in the Heart of Texas

"Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup."

-bumper sticker

* * *

Chapter 21: Deep in the Heart of Texas

There was friendly chaos greeting her in the hut. The Weasleys had brought their brother Charlie with them for this visit, and he had brought one of his newest charges.

"It's a Ukrainian Ironbelly!" Hagrid looked the happiest Saira had ever seen him.

"A what? Oh, gods!" Saira's mouth dropped clear to the floor as she stared at the creature in front of her. Only two feet long, not counting its tail, the grey baby dragon was barely a fraction of its full grown size. Despite that, it was merrily puffing smoke out of its nose and mouth as it raked its long claws across the floor of the hut, stirring up dust. It paused to look at Saira with curious ruby red eyes.

"Aw, she likes you!" Hagrid leaned down to scratch the dragonlet behind her ear.

"Hagrid, what is your hut made out of?"

"Er, wood. Why d'you ask?"

"Um…no particular reason." Saira had a feeling this wasn't his best idea ever.

"Right then. This here's Charlie, the big brother of these ones," Hagrid grinned at the twins as he introduced their brother.

There was no denying that the three boys were family. It was more than the red hair, stocky builds, and freckles. All three had the trademark Weasley grin, which promised as much earnest good nature as it did trouble. Charlie shook hands with Saira, and she noticed a sizable burn on his upper arm.

"Ouch, what happened there?" It looked painful.

"I work as a Dragon Keeper. One of the little ones caught a cold a week ago."

"Wait, he caught a cold, and you got burned?"

"Well, when he sneezed, you see…"

Saira shook her head. It was a wonder that there were any wizards left in the world at all if they choose to do things like play house with dragons. She thought about asking if Dumbledore knew exactly what was scurrying about on school property, but changed her mind when Hagrid scooped the scaly beast into his arms as tenderly as some might pick up a child.

The dragon puffed dramatic plumes of smoke, twitching her tail about indignantly. But, when Hagrid began feeding her bits of meat from his plate, she quieted down. She was apparently not inclined to singe the hand that fed her.

"She seems pretty tame…" Saira's voice trailed off, because she wasn't sure what dragons were like in general. It wasn't everyday that one turned up in Trafalgar Square.

Fred explained: "Charlie got this one from a friend. There was an accident when she was barely more than an egg, and her mother was too sick to care for her. By the time her mum got patched up, she didn't recognize her own child! So Charlie's been taking care of her for a spell and she seems pretty fond of people. She'll probably grow out of it in a bit as dragons tend to do, but until then she's great fun to be around."

"Erm, how is Norbert?" Hagrid looked wistful.

"Thriving!" Charlie had an enthusiastic smile. "He's one of the biggest ones his age. You did right by him, Hagrid."

"They just grow up so fast…" there was a touch of nostalgia in Hagrid's voice.

"And so, missus Hansen—how goes teaching these days?" George poured himself a butterbeer and sat down.

"Better than it would have gone if it hadn't been for you and Fred. Some of the students still aren't completely convinced that I'm not secretly a witch."

"That'd be the Hufflepuffs, no doubt…" There was a twinkle in George's eye.

"Hey, now!" Hagrid gave him The Eye. "Her brother was a Hufflepuff."

"Come then, tell us it's not true!" Fred approached the situation pragmatically.

"Well…" Saira thought. "If we break it down by house, most of the Griffyndors think it was a fabulous stunt, the Ravenclaws have already worked out the theory behind the spell, and, yes, the Hufflepuffs aren't quite sure what to make of me. But it's the Slytherins who've been the most interesting."

"Doesn't seem like much has changed since I went to school." Charlie had a wry smile.

"Well, maybe not for the reason you're thinking. Most of them actually guessed not only how I did it, but why. And no other house considered my motive. They're pretty quick on the uptake."

"Likely as not it only took one of them to figure it out, and the rest pilfered the answer," George decided.

"Well, let's just say there are a few Gryffindors the same could be said for…" Saira grinned.

"Well, you know—we're like family. We take of each other in Gryffindor," Fred explained.

"But not in Slytherin?" Saira arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe they thought if more of them got it right, you'd give them some extra house points," Charlie offered.

Saira shook her head. Going up against three Gryffindors in defense of Slytherin seemed like a Sisyphean battle. She changed the subject.

"How's your injury, Hagrid?"

"Garden's comin' 'long great, thanks fer askin'." He winked. "Anyone else on staff sufferin' from a strange, severe, and thankfully brief affliction?"

"Well, Sinistra and Kentaro were busy setting up for the duel on Friday."

"Now? It's only Tuesday!"

"Right."

"Oh. Oh!"

Saira chuckled.

"Duel?" George looked interested. "Think we can take wagers on it? Who's giving it a go?"

"Well, it'll be Professor Kentaro against anyone silly enough to challenge him, from what Sinistra says. I think students get to try first, and then any member of the faculty who's interested."

"I'll vote for ya," Fred teased.

"Right; I'll bash him over the head with my ungraded assignments…" Saira mused.

"No, no—**you** distract him with all your charm, and then **we** sneak up behind him an' let loose our newest invention!" George looked excited.

"I like the sound of this." Charlie leaned into hear what his brothers had in mind.

"The brand new flagship from the soon-to-be-famous Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes: The Texas Twist!" George held his hand out to Fred, who placed a bright orange bottle in his brother's hand with a flourish.

"Ooh, what's it do?" Hagrid looked interested.

"It's a miniature bottle of tornado-packing virulence. But, it only works once you've drunk it. Allow me to demonstrate…" George uncapped the bottle and grinned. "Just a small demonstration," he promised Hagrid, who had stepped away from George and turned his body to shield his young charge, who now lay sleeping in his arms.

George bottomed up and took a small swig, recapping the bottle when he finished. They all leaned in, watching. And waiting. George sat calmly, a secret smile on his face. He opened his mouth as though to speak—

And the worst belch in the entire world swept through the hut. The hot and humid air that propelled it swept around in rapid circular currents, spreading the putrid smell and making them all dive for cover with horrified expressions. All except Fred, who had covered his nose and ducked behind Hagrid's shelves the second he'd seen his brother's mouth open.

"Fantastic!" applauded Charlie.

"Oh, yuck! Ug!" Saira wrinkled her nose and held her stomach.

"You've got a winner, boys!" Hagrid looked proud.

"Thank you!"

"Our pleasure, really."

"And can you imagine if I downed the whole bottle, the way you're supposed to?" George looked like he was about to offer to demonstrate. Charlie intervened with a question.

"So, how'd you name it? Isn't Texas in the United States?"

"Yes, and George and I did a bit of research," Fred explained. "We decided that, since Texas has a history of spawning foul things that spew hot air, we should give it proper tribute."

Saira, being familiar with international affairs, howled outlaughter.

"You two are amazing," she admitted, wiping tears from her eyes. "Amazing."

"Aw, shucks…" Fred said, pretending modesty.

"Anything for a lady!" George agreed.

"Ah, the both of you…" Charlie shook his head, smiling. Nothing he said would be able to conceal the fondness he had for his younger brothers.

"So, what's our prize?" asked George.

"Eh?" Hagrid looked puzzled.

"Well, for providing the night's entertainment. We two could do with a chance to market our newest invention…perhaps in the Hallowed Halls of Hogwarts." Fred looked pointedly at Hagrid.

"No, boys, yer not gonna get me in on this! I'll not be accused of bringin' mayhem into Hogwarts, solely on Dumbledore's account, you understand."

They both turned to Saira with pleading faces. She considered.

"You could take them to the ball," suggested Charlie.

"Hey, bro! We can work our own magic with the ladies, thank you!" Fred tried to sound indignant.

Saira considered it. She could bring two guests, after all. And who else would she invite?

"Well…I don't see why not," she began. The twins jumped into the air and gave each other high fives. Hagrid shook his head, imagining great smelly bursts of air storming the castle.

"But there are two conditions, seeing as how there are two of you."

"Anything!" Fred agreed.

"Well, one is that you can't actually bring this tornado spell to the feast. You can tell people about it, but I think it'll cause too much of a commotion. In fact…if this is any indication of what you two can do, how about you agree not to bring anything majorly destructive with you? You can advertise your shop, but don't bring down the roof of Hogwarts."

The twins considered. On one hand, it'd be harder to get people interested without demonstrations. On the other, they had enough of a reputation to draw people in once the word was out. They looked at each other for a second and then nodded.

"What's the other?" asked George.

"I get to call in one favor from you both, while we're there. It won't be a bad one, I promise…" Saira's eyes twinkled the way they did when she had something up her sleeve.

"Sounds fun."

"Sold, mate!"

The three of them shook on it with affected solemnity.


	22. En Guard

". . . judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him to bring it down one day."

-Charles Dickens

I don't think it's possible to ever give enough credit to the Harry Potter Lexicon. It's an amazing resource. Anything in this story that is in anyway factual is thanks to it; all errors and stuff yanked out of thin air is my own.

* * *

Chapter 22: _En Guard_

"You are not going to believe this. He is absolutely astounding! The best I've ever experienced." For the sixth—or was it seventh?—time that day, Sinistra sang the praises of Saul Kentaro.

"Enough about the bedroom, how is he on the field?" Hooch sat down next to Saira and winked at her as Sinistra sputtered curses.

"Just you wait, one of these days…" Sinistra promised.

"Perhaps; I like it kinky."

"Arg! Incorrigible."

"Thank you."

Saira shook her head, bemused. The three of them had gotten together to watch the dueling demonstration the whole school was talking about. While she'd only met Professor Kentaro a few times, she was impressed by the way the man carried himself and the authority he commanded. And, she had to admit that Sinistra had good taste; he really was gorgeous. Every inch of his leonine body was carved with lean muscle, and his robes were just tight enough to show it off. He wore his hair close to his head in wiry twists, and his sparkling white smile cut across his dark skin in a mesmerizing and mysterious way. Many a female student would be requiring extra tutorage in Defense Against Dark Arts this year.

For now, though, students of all the classes were busy congregating around the outside ring that had been set up, complete with magical shielding around the periphery to protect the audience—_and_ to prevent their interference. Kentaro shunned the traditional dueling podium, insisting that the narrow walkway did not accurately simulate a real wizard's battle. Students in the upper classes had been cramming their hexes for weeks in anticipation of this chance to show their stuff against their new instructor.

Saira looked around for students she recognized. There was Ron with his friends, with Harry showing off a quick bit of footwork. And over to the right she recognized Hannah Abbot and Justin Finch-Fletchey fighting for positions close to the ring. Padma Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst and Kate Cirrus all appeared to be reviewing a scroll with some notes on it.

The Slytherins had claimed a corner of the ring as their own and places their first years in charge of defending the periphery. Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkingson were having an animated conversation with Draco, who was flanked by his two usual hubcaps. Saira noticed that Draco had a real, earnest smile on his face, a sight she didn't often see. Okay, had never seen. While he showed up to class and kept his disruptions limited to hissing words she could barely hear, he spent most of his time glaring at her. –I wonder what his father said to him.— Theodore Nott ran up to interrupt the group, gesturing across the field to where Kentaro was approaching.

–Sinistra _would_ pick a man who can make a scene…— Saira watched the tall wizard stride across to the ring, noticing that his sleeveless white robes showed off his arms quite nicely. His clothes were looser than those he wore to teach and his movements fluid within them. He was smiling as he stepped into the ring and greeted Flitwick, who'd agreed to supervise the duels. –This is going to be interesting.—

Flitwick scanned the ring looking for the first volunteer. A Ravenclaw named Cho Chang smiled broadly as she entered the ring and bowed respectfully to her instructor. He returned the gesture. Flitwick looked between them both, said some words Saira couldn't hear, and then ducked across the periphery to the shielded area.

Cho began by circling her professor warily as if trying to feel him out. He waited, letting her make the first move.

"_Obturbare!"_ Cho shot out a stream of brilliant blue light from her wand tip which danced around Kentaro in ever more intricate patterns. He watched it for barely half a second before he countered the Distracting Spell and sent back a challenge.

"_Incumbere…Rictusempra!"_

Cho thought fast as she heard the word leave his lips, and a rapid "_Tristitia!_" sent sadness out to counter the laughing charm.

Her instructor grinned and nodded his head towards her, acknowledging the point. But before she could send out her next attack, he let fly a "_Fraudo wand!"_ and stole her weapon from her. Disarmed, she bowed her head in acknowledgement and retreated to the periphery. Flitwick appeared to be congratulating her on her performance as he returned her wand.

All said, Cho fared the best of the first few participants. A simple Blasting curse surprised a third year who'd dared enter the ring, while the familiar Jelly legs jinx sent Justin Finch-Fletchey back to his housemates. A few students couldn't even get their curses out correctly and forfeited their matches. Ron had entered the ring and done good tribute to his sister by using her by-now-famous Bat-bogey hex, but Kentaro had countered with an effective Cleansing Spell that rendered his nose perfectly clean and given Ron quite the scrubbing, to boot.

Saira glanced to the Slytherins, who didn't appear to be in any hurry to charge the field. –I bet they're biding their time, letting him get tired.— She watched them, admiring their restraint. It was then she heard the chant being taken up across the field.

"Pot-ter, Pot-ter, Pot-ter!"

"What's with the Potter thing?" she learned over to ask Hooch, as Sinistra was too busy staring at Kentaro to be much of an informant.

"Oh, the trials and tribulations of being The Boy Who Lived…"

"Huh?"

"I'll explain later. Let's just say he's rumored to be pretty good with his wand."

Saira sat back as Harry looked to Hermione and Ron and shook his head back and forth as if he was saying no. Padma Patil watched him for a second, then stepped into the field herself. Harry gave her a grateful smile.

Padma turned out to be remarkably good. Where Kentaro had confused more than a few of his opponents with his dramatic attack style, which involved fast moves and quick rolls, Padma matched his speed on the field with some amazing footwork of her own. Her "_Locomotor mortis!" _was countered by his _"Tarantallegra!"_, but his well aimed and fast moving _"Expelliarmus!" _was shot down by _"Finite incantum!"_ that left her lips even as he finished saying "_mus!"_

It was with the most surprising of spells he got the crafty Ravenclaw: _"Wingardium leviosa!"_ Even Padma burst out laughing as she went flying through the air and landed neatly at her Professor's feet. He shook her hand and smiled, and she left the ring just as Draco Malfoy walked into it.

Draco had the look of one who loved every minute of the limelight. He nodded briefly to his professor, barely waiting for acknowledgement before lashing out with his first spell.

"_Citare Cerberus!"_ A giant three headed dog went lunging towards Kentaro, who rolled out of its way easily and threw a Banishing Spell at it.

Draco continued, "_Relashio!_" and a stream of blistering sparks flew from his wand towards his opponent.

"_Aquorari!"_ Kentaro responded, and a sheet of water nullified the sparks. It looked to Saira as though Saul Kentaro was getting tired and moving more slowly. Not surprising, considering the acrobatics he'd been displaying.

"_Serpensortia!"_ Draco commanded, earning a low murmur from those in the crowd who remembered the last time he'd used that spell.

A giant snake flew from his wand, landing nearly upon the now sluggish Kentaro. To his credit, the man had some mental reserves left.

"_Buteo regalis!" _he responded, and a giant hawk emerged from thin air, caught the snake in its talons, and disappeared. Kentaro turned towards Draco and let fly one last spell: _"Silencio!"_

Whatever Draco had been about to say faded from existence and the duel was over. He seemed content as he left the ring, though, and Saira had to admit he'd done a good showing.

"You're in rare form, Professor Kentaro. Are you so concerned a student might actually win that you find it necessary to resort to petty little spells?" Severus Snape had appeared out of nowhere and looked irate. –What, did have a few pence on Draco?— Saira wondered.

"Is that a challenge, Severus?" Saul Kentaro was covered in sweat and he was breathing heavily.

"Saul, don't be foolish…" Saira hear Sinistra hiss under her breath.

Snape stood at the periphery of the ring, surveying the other man with narrowed eyes. He had his wand out and was shifting it idly in his hand.

"And have it said that I defeated an exhausted man? Unlike some, I become easily bored with inadequate adversaries."

Kentaro had taken that to mean that Snape wouldn't be challenging him, and he began to turn away. Which meant that he was unprepared when the other man _did_ enter the ring and fired a spell at his back:

"_Ennervate!"_

Kentaro turned towards Snape, standing a bit more upright and breathing easier. He paused a second before he smiled, accepting the challenge.

What happened in the next few minutes was the most blinding show of magic Saira had ever seen. Where the students had tended to send off spells singly, the two men on the field were letting loose torrents of magic at each other. Their two fighting styles were dramatically different—Kentaro was back to his leaps, bounds and rolls, which got him out of the way of more than a few of Snape's spells. Snape, for his part, rarely moved from where he stood. He rarely had to. His hands were graceful and limber, and more than once Saira wondered if he was, just maybe, using them _both_ to cast spells.

A roar went up from the students as Kentaro managed to get Snape's weapon away from him with a variation of the curse he'd used on Cho. Instead of responding as the 7th year student had done, Snape merely allowed a grim smile to cross his face and held his hands out in front of him, palms up. With an intense scowl and a rapid, curling motion of his long fingers, he sent Kentaro flying into the air as the ground beneath the other man's feet shotupwards several feet.

Everyone in the audience was on their feet, talking excitedly. Saira heard Hooch muttering some expletives and rightly assumed the witch was impressed with her co-worker's surprising stunt. It did not, however, prepare them for what happened next.

Snape had his wand back and now stood straight backed over his opponent, who was separated from his wand and gripping his ankle. Snape didn't hesitate, raising his arm and letting fly with:

"CRU—"

"SEVERUS!" Sinistra was lunging towards the ring but she was too far back to get there in time.

Saira saw a blue blanket of light wrap itself around Kentaro as Snape finished his last curse:

"—DITATIS!" The Vomiting Curse bounced off of the downed man as Flitwick ran into the ring.

"A draw!" yelled the elderly wizard. "I call it a draw!"

"But Filius, I didn't cast the Protecting Spell," Kentaro admitted.

"I don't care who did, my nerves can't take this anymore and it's officially a draw!" Flitwick was not going to be argued with. Of course, if Kentaro really hadn't cast the protecting spell, Severus should be the clear winner. Flitwick looked too harried to consider anything but getting the two men off of the field.

Sinistra was cursing loudly, sending a group of students scurrying away in fear.

"That bloody BASTARD! He KNEW we'd think that was an Unforgivable. The damn wanker did it on bloody purpose; I am going to KILL him!" She was rushing to the side of the ring.

Saira looked to Hooch for an explanation. The Quidditch coach was pale, as though she'd been frightened out of her wits: a hard thing to do to a woman who regularly stared death in the face hundreds of feet above ground. She saw the question on Saira's face.

"Sinistra thought—we all thought—that Severus was going to use a spell we are not allowed to use. A really horrible spell."

"But he didn't use it?"

"No. No, he didn't. He used one that begins in a similar manner, and we all jumped to conclusions." Hooch looked grim. "I think we were supposed to believe he was going to use the Cruciatus Curse."

"I see." Saira sat down silently, taking in the scene before her. Snape was stalking off the field in a huff, his robes billowing behind him. –He can do magic without a wand…I thought they all needed their wands?— Despite herself, Saira was impressed. She thought about the match and how Severus hadn't just used magic to fight it. He'd been playing a different game from the moment he rejuvenated his opponent by surprise. Kentaro hadn't liked being caught off guard.

While the Defense Against Dark Arts professor had wowed them all with his amazing physical fighting style, it was Severus who had known how to get into his opponent's mind. The spells he'd chosen, up until the last, had been designed to show Kentaro he was dealing with a dangerous opponent.

–Kentaro probably thought he was going to have that horrible curse thrown at him…— Saira wasn't sure how she felt about that. She sympathized with the DADA professor, who'd probably been scared as much as the rest of them. –But wasn't that the point of a battle—to not only win, but also to destroy the enemy?— She shuddered. –Severus Snape seemed to know what he was doing out there. And who sent that Protecting Spell at the end? It wasn't Filius. It sure wasn't Snape. But it somehow got across the barrier Sinistra had put up…and it wasn't her.—

All around her, students were beginning to ask the same question. She saw Harry stalking off with Ron and Hermione in tow. –Was it him? The boy who is so good with his wand?— Harry looked angry, and was shaking his head as he stormed towards the castle. His friends were running, trying to keep up with him.

–He doesn't much look as though he's proud of himself for protecting his professor.— She listened to the voices around her; many of them were crediting Harry with the deed. Saira frowned, unconvinced.

–There's never a dull moment here.—


	23. If At First You Don't Succeed X2

"When people keep telling you that you can't do a thing, you kind of like to try it."

-Margaret Chase Smith

* * *

Chapter 23: If At First You Don't Succeed (X2) 

Harry felt nervous as he walked down Diagon Alley, even though he wasn't yet doing anything wrong. Just a perfectly normal trip to the bank. Not like he was casing the joint or anything.

"How _did_ she convince me to do this?" he wondered aloud.

His eyes rested on the imposing white marble of Gringotts, taking in the long line of goblins patrolling its periphery. He shrugged.

"Here we go, round one." Harry stepped briskly towards the two sets of doors, nodding at the guards, and went to request a trip to his vault. His parents had left him a sizable inheritance and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he'd need to visit his holdings occasionally. He'd been worried about multiple visits to the bank looking suspicious, but Hermione pointed out that plenty of people liked to check on their accounts. In particular, rumor had it that Narcissa Malfoy went on both Tuesdays and Thursdays at noon, rain or shine. Hearing that, Harry suggested he go on Saturdays.

Hermione had agreed and even offered to cover some of his class work to make it up to him. This earned a sulk from Ron, who was royally annoyed at being left doing his own, until Hermione pointed out that she was bound to help him so he'd have time to work on his lock breaking spells. That cheered him up. Hermione's newly twisted sense of ethics promised to make life in Gryffindor a bit more bearable this year, though there was a much higher likelihood that they would be eaten by a dragon as a direct result. These things are all about trade-offs.

Harry showed his key to the goblin clerk who carefully wrote down the number: 687. Which is not too far away from 653, if you're counting.

As he waited in line, his thoughts drifted back to the duel that had happened yesterday. He was still irritated by his "fan club," if you could call them that, and the constant expectations they placed on him. –What if I can't do it, what if I'm not good enough? What if I don't want to be The Harry Potter and just want to play some Quidditch and call it a day?— It was a familiar thought he played out as a goblin slowed the transport cart to pick him up.

Once they were moving he had other concerns. Most of them involved Ron and Hermione's safety. For one, the tunnel passages had some very narrow areas, and if they got caught traveling through them as a cart came barreling down the track, they would likely be smashed into pieces too small to interest even the rats. If that wasn't bad enough, there was the smell, which was a cross between fresh blood and cabbage. Something was Not Quite Right in this underground maze.

He watched the vaults whizzing by, pretending the idlest of interest so he wouldn't draw the suspicions of the goblin. Not that it mattered; everyone knew you'd have to be seriously insane or decidedly desperate to try stealing something from Gringotts. Only once had anyone almost succeeded…and they never had found out who had been working for Voldemort, or how they'd gotten into the carefully guarded vault Hagrid had emptied only minutes earlier. –Very interesting.—

The goblin guided the cart through an intricate set of twists and turns while Harry did his best to keep his sense of direction. Sending Ron and Hermione the wrong way would almost guarantee that they wouldn't make it out, or that they'd be caught. It would almost be better to be killed by a troll than found by the humourless goblins.

–655! We should be close…— His brief moment of elation was dashed when he saw the next number: 17. –They aren't in order? Who in Hades thought this up!— Harry couldn't be certain, but it seemed as though the driver of the cart had allowed a particularly grim smile to cross his face at just that moment.

After they stopped and Harry had made the required trip into and out of his vault, they headed back. Only, they seemed to be going out by a much different path that the one they'd taken in. –How am I ever going to map out the way to Voldemort's vault, if we never go the same way twice?—

In the midst of this doubtful and adversarial situation, Harry constructed a masterful analysis of the myriad of factors and likely events: –We are _totally_ screwed.—

* * *

"OW!" Saira grabbed her foot and hopped around the classroom.

"I'm sorry!" Neville hung his head.

It was their third lesson, and all Neville had learned was a list of ways to apologize for stomping on his professor's feet.

Saira stopped her one woman pogo show and shook her head. –This isn't going to work. Time to break out Plan B.—

"Neville, come here." The boy looked nervous. Was she planning revenge?

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I've got something for you." Saira walked gingerly over to her desk, where she had her last bright idea wrapped in brown paper. She handed the large flat package to her student.

"Well? Open it." She smiled.

Neville thought for a moment. He was cautious as he peeled back the covering, and only more confused when he saw what was inside. Two wooden ovals, with some sort of criss-crossing webbing spanning their centers.

"What are they?"

"Muggle tennis rackets."

"Huh? Well, what do I do with them?"

"I want you to magic them to your feet." Neville looked at her dubiously. He put the two rackets on the ground and stepped into the center of each of them, casting a small Binding Spell.

"Perfect!" Saira hoped this would work. "Now, I want you to try walking across the room."

Neville did just that, tripping and sliding about as he made his way across the floor.

"Why am I doing this?" he asked, as he picked himself up from the ground the second time.

"Well, I think your feet are just too big for you. So, we're going to make them bigger and try to teach you how to dance this way. And then, when we take them off, I'm hoping your feet will feel like the right size. What do you think?"

Neville looked at her with his eyes opened wide. And then he threw back his head and laughed a healthy, teenage boy laugh. It was worth a try.

For the next 20 minutes, Neville worked on merely walking. Watching his attempts, Saira couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it.

"Is she really that lovely, Neville?"

The boy looked over to where his professor was sitting (out of harm's way, of course!).

"You mean Kate?"

"No, your cousin Bertha. Yes, Kate!" Saira teased.

"Oh. Right." Neville blushed. "I think so."

"Have you talked to her much?"

"Sometimes we do our Herbology together when the greenhouse is open for research hours."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. And she's always really nice to me."

"What do you like about her?"

Neville continued trying to walk across the room. "Well, she's smart. And she's amazing with plants; you should see what her Mimbulus looks like. She's really amazing when it comes to complicated spells. I think Hermione probably knows more, but I'd be surprised if anyone else did."

"Really? Why don't she and Hermione have more dramatic reputations?"

Neville picked himself off of the ground and doggedly began walking again. "Well, Hermione's known as 'Harry's friend,' right?" He shook his head. "I like Harry, I'm not knocking him or anything. It's just that it's hard for other really talented witches and wizards at Hogwarts to get much attention when he's around. Hermione gets it when she saves Harry's butt, or when she raises her hand in class."

"And Kate?"

"That's the thing. She just _does_ things, and she doesn't care if people know she can do them or not. Like when Malfoy tried to slam the door. Any of the Gryffindors would have stood up to cast that spell and then bowed and taken the credit." Neville had managed to pace up and down the floor of the classroom twice without falling. He was getting better!

"And you like that?"

Neville nodded and concentrated on taking a few of the dancing steps Saira had been showing him. As he picked himself off the floor yet again, Saira marveled at how predictable the situation was in terms of house stereotypes. –Gryffindor boy falls for Ravenclaw girl who demonstrates self-sacrificing honor. Ravenclaw girl sees it as nothing more than dedication to knowledge. Huh.—

"And she's pretty, too." Neville added, grinning. Now _that_ was a sentiment transcending house lines!


	24. Completely Mind Numbing and Relatively P

Although a life-long fashion dropout, I have absorbed enough by reading _Harper's Bazaar_ while waiting at the dentist's to have grasped that the purpose of fashion is to make A Statement. My own modest Statement, discerned by true cognoscenti, is, "Woman Who Wears Clothes So She Won't Be Naked." Molly Ivins

Notice the chapter title; consider yourself warned.

* * *

Chapter 24: Completely Mind Numbing and Relatively Pointless Scene 

Saira sighed as she attempted to remove the last of the fur from the hem of her midlength skirt. Despite all the locks and spells on her chambers, she'd found a student's cat napping on her evening clothes when she'd returned to change for the Halloween Feast. She hadn't thought about what clothing would be appropriate for this sort of thing until Pansy Parkingson's outfit had arrived at breakfast that morning. It had required the services of three owls, all of which looked exhausted from their travel with the heavily bejeweled and brocaded garment. –So I'll be underdressed; at least I don't have anyone to impress. Anyway, these sorts of things are really for the students. My job is to keep the Weasleys under control, and I'll definitely need sensible shoes for the task.—

She kicked on a pair of loafers and headed down to see if McGonagall needed any non magical help.

"You're wearing _that?_" The older witch seemed amused.

"It was this or a robe, and my terrycloth is in the clutches of the house elves…" Saira wasn't sure if McGonagall would get the joke.

"You could at least let your hair down."

"And have it in my face? No thanks."

"Perhaps some jewelry to dress it up?'

"Don't have any worth mentioning."

"Oh, this simply will not do." The witch clucked disapprovingly. She stood arms akimbo and head crooked to one side with a mild frown on her face.

"Well, I don't exactly know how to go shopping here!" Saira felt defensive. She wasn't entirely sure that McGonagall liked her, so being under her scrutiny was a bit uncomfortable.

"And you don't have a wealthy socialite mother torturing small winged animals to outfit you…" the words were scarcely above a mutter, and McGonagall's face remained impassive.

–Did I hear that right? Did she just make a joke?—

"Well, then…I suppose it will do."

"Hey, it's not _that_ bad!" Saira shook her head and threw up her hands. It wasn't exactly like she needed to be a fashion plate tonight. She made some weak excuse about needing find some toenail clippers and scurried away before she could be subjected to anymore of this needling. –She sounds just like my mother!—

It was probably time to head out to meet the Weasleys, anyways. And, sure enough, they were parking their brooms outside the castle when she peeked out to check.

"You're wearing _that_?"

"Thanks, Fred. You and McGonagall in league or something?" Saira rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, good one bro—keep it up and she'll change her mind and uninvite us."

"Well, it's not like she couldn't go and trans…oh, I guess she can't." Fred looked surprised, as if he'd only just realized that not being about to do magic could be an inconvenience.

"Do what?"

"Transfigure it into something nicer. You know, glitz it up a little!"

"Is that what you two intend on doing?" She looked at the twins, who'd shown up wearing slightly damp and muddy robes from their travel in the cool October weather.

"Exactly!"

"Precisely."

Saira watched, amused, as they both morphed themselves into wearing contrasting sets of green and orange robes.

"Ug, I think I liked them better the first time."

"Hey now!" George looked indignant. "It's all the rage."

"Then you're not allowed to make fun of me!"

"Well, want us to spruce you up?"

"Not if this is your idea of a spruce up," Saira gestured to their new robes. "And anyway, I'm not a witch; I'd look ridiculous in robes and probably trip over them to boot."

"Oh, come on. Fred used to make costumes for Ginny all the time. You can trust us!"

Assailed on all fronts by disapproving wizards, Saira gave in.

"But keep it decent, and no ruffles, no lace, and NO PINK." She gave them a meaningful glare.

"Right, then!" Fred squinted at her skirt and sleeveless top combo and looked thoughtful. "How about this?"

"No…too black." His first attempt was a formal, high necked black gown with long sleeves.

"This?"

"Ah…too summery." It was pale yellow in the most unflattering of ways.

"How about this one?"

"Eh, not bad." Dark blue, sleekand sleeveless, the cocktail-style dress had a simple mandarin collar and managed to look presentable.

"Hey Fred, make it longer."

"Like this?"

"That's it! Looks dressier now."

"Is it going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?"

"Huh? Err…it should stay like that, until you—I mean we—turn it back. Is that okay?"

"Fine."

"Want new shoes?"

"No, these are comfy. And besides, it's long enough to hide them."

"Suit yourself." Fred smiled.

"And about your hair…"

"Bugger off, George."

"No, really…you could take it down just halfway."

She glared at him.

"Or not." He agreed. Then, as she turned back to head into the castle, he threw a small spell at her.

"GEORGE!"

"Well, it's an updo. It's not down at all. I mean, really, the braid? It's always in the braid."

She sighed and conceded defeat. The feast hadn't even begun, but she could tell it would be a long night.


	25. Wherein Much Happens in Little Time

"If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution."

Emma Goldman

* * *

Chapter 25: Wherein Much Happens in Little Time 

Sprout waved as Saira and the Weasley boys entered the Great Hall.

"Hello, my dear! And boys; it's so good to see you both! You look well!" The cheerful witch gave them all affectionate squeezes, then stepped back and appraised Saira. "I must say I expected much worse, from what Minerva was saying…this is quite charming on you. And your hair looks lovely."

Fred cleared his throat, looking pleased. George guffawed. Saira scrunched her face up and made a concerted effort at self control.

"Thank you." –Now can we talk about something, **anything**, else?— "What are you on for tonight?"

"Oh, Dumbledore has me taking care of the band, making sure they get enough to eat and drink. Though, since the students are taking turns manning the food and punch tables, I might just ask one or two of them to do it. I'd rather be out on the dance floor. You _will_ be dancing?"

"Is there anyway I can answer no, when you ask the question like that?"

Sprout smiled her kindest, most charming smile.

"I didn't think so." Both women laughed.

"Um, Saira—we see some people we know, would you mind if…not to be rude, but we were hoping…" Fred waved to some Gryffindors who had just entered, while George tried to politely excuse them.

"Get out, have fun—and don't make me regret inviting you."

"Deal!" They trotted towards their friends.

"It is good to see them again," Sprout repeated. "I might not get as many grey hairs with them gone, but I don'tget to laugh as much, either. Ah, the band is starting up. Time to go convince the students to do my dirty work!" She winked as she left.

Saira stepped to the side of the room to watch the scene before her. The hall looked magnificent. Dumbledore had done his usual job with the ceiling and it seemed as though the Northern Lights were dancing upon it. Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had surpassed even his expectations and were flanking the band area and set up around the room as natural dividers. Four of the largest were magically carved in honor of the houses, and a serpent, lion, eagle, and badger each moved within their respective gourd. McGonagall had cleared all but a few of the tables and decorated with paintings, tapestries, and elaborate displays of candles. One corner was set up with food and drinks, with "special" punch marked for the staff. Saira had a small bet with Flitwick on the amount of time it would take students to break the simple "18 and over only" charm that had been placed on it. –If it takes them more than 20 minutes, they're obviously not trying hard enough.— She grinned to herself.

The students had begun piling in, wearing everything from their dress robes to more elaborate, "Muggle-style" gowns, which appeared to be the favored fashion for many of the upper class girls. All teasing aside, Saira had to admit that Pansy Parkinson looked perfectly elegant in her strapless silver and green dress with its small train. –But who puts _emeralds_ on a young girl's dress? It's a bit much! And are those _diamonds_ in her tiara? Oh dear.—

Draco Malfoy appeared to be impressed, and so the dress had its desired effect. He looked positively stunning as well, it being against his nature to do any less. He didn't return the smile she gave him, which made her a little sad. –I wish there was a way to get through to that boy.—

Padma Patil swept into the room wearing a sari, followed by Mandy Brocklehurst and Kate Cirrus in dress robes. The three girls made a beeline towards the food and drinks, and Saira found herself hoping the young ladies would further her bet. –Flitwick doesn't stand a chance!—

Now Saira could see Ron, Hermione and Harry, but no Neville. She kept her eyes out for him, and was so busy scanning the room she didn't notice the man approaching her.

"You look splendid. I had no idea Muggles were such cultivators of style."

Saira found herself looking up into the face of Lucius Malfoy.

She forced a smile. "Oh, what a pleasure to see you again. I really must thank you for talking to Draco. It's wonderful to have a parent be so involved with their child's education."

"Oh, come now…it was the least I could do." The arrogant man looked pleased. "But perhaps, as a token of thanks, I might I have dance with Hogwarts' newest and loveliest professor?"

Saira thought it was likely she'd toss every meal she'd ever considered eating onto his too lavishly embroidered robes. She smiled graciously and accepted. –He is not the kind of man who makes a good enemy. Far better to play dumb and see what happens. And if he tries anything, knee him in the groin and run like all hell. Oooh, now **there's** an idea…— She willed her stomach to calm itself.

He led her out to the floor where students and staff alike were already dancing. She avoided eye contact withhim, hoping he might think she was in awe of his presence, as she asked her first question:

"It's so lovely that you're here! Are you able to attend most of Hogwarts' functions?" –Will I always have to avoid you, in the future?—

"Ah, would that it were so. I had business with the Headmaster earlier today, and hoped to add a bit of pleasure to my trip." The way he said "pleasure" made Saira want to scour every part of her body touching him with bleach and pumice.

"We are lucky to have you. I'm sure Draco is pleased his father can attend; he must miss you terribly during the year." –What have you done to make that boy such a suspicious little creature?—

"It's true, he and I are close. We have similar…interests." Lucius smiled. "But it would be unbecoming to speak only of me; tell me, how are you enjoying your stay at Hogwarts so far?"

"Oh, it's quite lovely. Everyone is very kind, and the students seem interested in learning. Are you a member of the PTA?" –Keep him talking about himself…—

He looked a bit puzzled for half a second before he answered. "I'm not sure exactly what that might be. Perhaps a Muggle Invention? I'm quite fond of such things, you know."

"Oh?" She tried to look enthusiastic.

"Being formerly part of, and now newly elected **Chair** of the Committee for Muggle Protection, I say Muggles are both a professional and personal interest of mine."

"That's delightful. I'm relieved such a powerful wizard is taking an interest in these matters." –What the hell is this committee about? I really should talk to Dumbledore again.—

"Oh, it is no matter. I wish to _personally _see to it that all matters are handled…appropriately."

"What sort of—oh! Hello?" An arm reached between her and Malfoy.

"Might I cut in, sir?" Saul Kentaro bowed to Lucius.

"Why, I would never deprive a lady so deserving of attention. By all means." He didn't look pleased, but his reply was civil.

Kentaro swept her across the floor with his trademark flair.

"I don't know if I should thank you or not!" Saira hissed into his ear.

"Oh? I take it you were enjoying your chat with Mr. _Luscious_ Malfoy?"

Saira bit back her grin. "You sound like Sinistra."

"Come to think of it, I think she did teach me that one."

"Likely. No, I'm glad I'm not dancing with him. I should savor my last few minutes on earth, though…"

"How so?"

"Because Sinistra is going to bloody kill me if she sees me dancing with you."

He laughed. "If only she cared. We're having a bit of a squabble at the moment and she's ignoring me. I'm hoping this will get her eye."

"Addendum: Sinistra is going to kill me only _after_ I beat the bejeezus out of you." She scowled.

"Oh come now, it won't be as bad as—oh, here she comes!"

Saira looked over her shoulder and saw Sinistra storming towards them. She yelped and pushed the man away to intercept her seething friend.

"Look, I can explain!"

"You don't have to. I saw everything. I'm going to hex him into next Tuesday." Sinistra didn't slow her stride one bit as she met her paramour and began leading _him_ around the floor, chattering angrily into his ear.

Saira escaped towards the food table. At this point, she needed a drink.

She grabbed a pastry and a glass of wine, the latter of which she received from a surprisingly civil Goyle, who was watching the faculty punch bowl.

"Anyone broken into it yet?" It had been at least 20 minutes by now.

"Nope, I've been keeping an eye on it—Flitwick's orders!"

"Drat." She sulked, and wondered if interference counted as cheating and would nullify the bet. It was worth a discussion. "Thanks, anyways."

Saira sidled up to the Hufflepuff pumpkin, smiling at the frolicking orange badger. It hid her from view of most people and allowed her to see what Neville was up to. She munched on her pastry as she watched the boy, who was sitting with some of his housemates. He appeared to be fixated on a far corner of the room.

She followed his gaze to where Kate and her friends stood, laughing about something. –Oh, no!— She had been concerned that Neville might find the threesome intimidating, and it looked as though the boy had no intention of going over to ask Kate to dance. –Drat. Time to call in the big guns.—

Saira scanned the room, looking for the noisiest, rowdiest part. Sure enough, Fred and George were in the midst of it, with Ron and Ginny backing them up. Enthusiastic hoots and hollers came from the large group of people around them, and Saira nearly had to climb over a few students to talk to the twins.

"Hey, you two. Over here for just a minute."

"I swear, we had nothing to do with the Flaming Stink Pellets!" George looked nervous.

"The what?"

"Er, nevermind. What was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

Saira thought she probably should press the stink pellet issue, but then figured it wasn't worth the bother. Besides, she had more important things on her mind.

"It's about the favor you promised to grant me."

"Uh, oh!" Fred and George answered simultaneously.

"Look. You see those girls over there?" She pointed at the three Ravenclaws.

"Sure."

"Lovely ladies, they are."

"Did they complain about us?"

"I swear we didn't do it."

"Hush! You're only going to get yourselves into trouble." Saira grinned. "I want you to ask Mandy and Padma to dance. You know who they are?"

"Sure, only two of the prettiest girls in the school." George had a big smile on his face.

"Wait, that's our favor? We should do business more often!" Fred, too, looked pleased.

"But what about their friend?" George had a moment's chivalry. "Won't she feel left out?"

"I'm hoping someone else asks her. Now, go. And be nice to them!" She tried to look scolding, but felt herself giving into a chuckle as the two boys practically ran across the hall to do her bidding.

–Okay, no more interference from me. He's got his chance, and it's up to him. I wash my hands of this whole thing!—

"Why am I not surprised…it's _you_ we have to thank for the presence of the ever _popular_ Weasley Twins. Unless they've returned for remedial schooling, having performed so poorly on their NEWTS as to be denied entrance into any sort of gainful employment?" Snape looked irate.

"Nice to see you, too."

"I must commend you on your choice of footwear. Perhaps you were expecting to go on a long walk by the lake? I suspect the squid is particularly famished…why not tempt it?"

Saira sat down her untasted wine and brushed the pastry crumbs off of her hands. "Severus, where is your guest? I am eager to meet whatever young lady survives your company—or perhaps it is a young man?"

"I assure you, Hansen, that were you representative of all womankind I would instinctively plunge into the homosexual community."

"And all of womankind would breathe a veritable sigh of relief, Severus."

Saira's attention was distracted by movement from Neville. –Was he going to ask Kate to dance?— She peered around Snape, hopeful. The Potions Master followed her gaze, and the two of them watched as Kate wandered over to Neville and sat down beside him with a smile. –Well, I'll be damned!—

"Don't tell me that Longbottom has acquired a female companion. I had hoped whatever defects riddle him might be effectively removed from the gene pool."

"Oh, it takes a real man to belittle a teenage boy." Saira's voice had authentic malice in it.

"What I do with words others do with actions. Or did you neglect to notice your handsome friend's treatment of Mr. Malfoy at the dueling competition? Such a spiteful, cowardly trick as a Silencing Spell."

"Oh, and if someone else does it, that obviously makes it right. My bad." She looked at him directly.

"Someone had to put him in his place. He is far too arrogant and overconfident; those traits can be deadly in a duel."

"Then why are you still living?"

"It should be obvious. But then, you will never understand the intricacies of a magical society. Not that more should be expected from a Muggle."

That particular jibe plunged into a sore spot, and Saira walked away from Snape before he could see the hurt in her eyes. She often felt like she didn't quite fit in here, and having that brought out so clearly stung her rather sharply. She made her way to the balcony to clear her head in the chilly evening air.

–I shouldn't let him get to me. He just likes to bicker, that's all. And it's not like I don't give him his fair share of insults. He's probably still sore about the whole dueling fiasco, anyways. Having a whole crowd of people assume you're casting a nasty spell, and then not officially winning on top of that…yeah, I'd be sore, too. And there's no way he could know you feel like such an outsider; even Fred and George don't consider what it means to not be able to do magic.— She felt herself cheering up pretty quickly, not being an overly melancholy person. And besides, it was _cold_ outside, and she was not dressed for this of thing. –Better head back in before I turn into an icicle shaped like a Muggle.—

She nearly walked into Hooch as she headed for the door.

"Fancy meeting you here!" The quidditch coach grinned.

"Hey, don't you owe me a ride on your broom?" Saira felt mischievous.

"What, you think I carry it around in a pocket of my robes?"

"Oh. I suppose not."

Hooch winked and pulled a miniature broom out of a pocket. Before Saira could make any jokes about size mattering, the witch had flicked her wand and transformed it back to life size.

"I'm fond of using Shrinking Spells to carry around useful items," she explained.

–Geez, that even beats a Leatherman!— Saira was impressed.

"Want to play?" Hooch asked.

"I don't know much about the game."

"And you would be used to a different sort of sport, too…" Hooch looked thoughtful.

"I learn quickly!" Saira wasn't about to let this opportunity slide by.

"Any idea what the goal here is?"

"Um, to score?" They both started laughing.

Hooch grabbed her broom and turned her back to Saira. "Hop on and hang on, if you dare!"

And, grinning from ear to ear, Saira Hansen did just that.


	26. The Rules of Quidditch

Nothing risqué, nothing gained. Alexander Woollcott

How does one write a sex scene and keep it rated "R"? I suppose they let their readers fill in the blanks in quite a few places. I was having a sort of guilty conscience, worried that all sorts of 12 year old kids might stumble into this…until I remembered what a shameless little perv I was back then. Have fun with what there is—and use your brilliant imaginations (or other websites) for the rest. ;-)

* * *

Chapter 26: The Rules of Quidditch 

While Saira had been chilly just minutes ago, she felt quite warm as they rushed through the night air. Being on a broom was the singularly most amazing thing she'd ever experienced. It was more stable than she'd imagined it might be, heading steadily in whatever direction Rolanda Hooch aimed it.

The world looks different from the back of a broom. You see more of the sky and land, and have a better perspective on your relation to it all. It's both humbling and empowering.

Hooch threw in a few downward spirals and a quick vertical loop for good measure, and Saira hollered out her appreciation.

"Guess there's no scaring you none."

"Do it again!" Saira agreed.

The two women banked left and headed towards the back towers of Hogwarts, passing the owlery and making more than a few of the birds nervous. Likely they were used to Hooch's coming and goings.

Saira felt herself getting a bit edgy as it became obvious Hooch was barreling towards a large glass window. –Is she trying another stunt here?— She hung on a bit tighter and gritted her teeth as the broom sped towards the flat plane, expecting the broom to be jerked up or down rapidly at any moment.

"_Evanesco vitrum."_ Hooch's murmur was barely audible from the front, but its effects were relieving. The window had disappeared, and they made a rather elegant landing inside the witch's chambers.

Once inside, Hooch put the glass back in the window and reshrunk her broom,while Sairaglanced around the quarters. Trophies, ribbons, and plaques filled a giant bookcase on one side, while a matching set of shelves held a myriad of quidditch related titles. A small workbench was set up near the window with bits of wood, straw, and metal scattered across it.

"I do most of my own repairs," Rolanda explained.

"Nice. Could you show me how, some day? I'm quite good with Muggle patch jobs."

"Could be fun. There's not too much magic involved; mostly common sense. But, for right now, there was something else I was hoping to teach you…if you're interested in learning."

Saira grinned and put her arms around the witch's waist, leaning in to kiss her.

–Mmm, quite nice. Less like a battle between two mouths and more like going somewhere together.— Saira began to compare this with past experiences. –And she can kiss! And, oooh, nice and smooth, no stubble…— Saira ran her hand appreciatively across the other woman's delicately smooth jawline.

"How do you get this off?" Rolanda ran her fingertips down the sides of Saira's dress.

"Don't know; I didn't put it on."

"Hmm? Oh, no matter…" She began lifting it over Saira's head, then half paused with her eyes twinkling.

"I'm not going to catch any strange Muggle disease, am I?"

Saira made a show of indignance, though she was glad the subject had been broached. "No, though I'm likely to end up with some magical one. Aren't there rumors about you Quidditch players?"

"And they're all true," Rolanda promised. "Though wizards are a bit more progressive than Muggles in this respect, and we don't have anything to worry about."

"Must be nice." Saira started pushing off Rolanda's robes.

"Mmm, _that's_ nice," purred the witch as Saira dragged her teeth across an earlobe. "We haven't had any problems for a hundred years, thanks to a dedicated mediwitch who was particularly fond of sex…you Muggles should put more effort into important matters."

"Agreed. Where's your bed?"

The two of them dove into the covers like giggling teenagers. Saira looked at the other woman, appreciating her athletic body with its amazing collection of muscle and well placed scars. –Yeah, scars are sexy.— They rolled together, hands and mouths moving in a teasing and twisting dance.

Saira nearly shot through the ceiling when Rolanda's mouth breathed warm air between her legs. –Crap! She doesn't need a road map; that's bloody fantastic!— She leaned back and gave in to the most intuitive, direct lover she'd yet to snog. –I should have done this years ago; half the men I've been with can't even find a clit on the first round, let alone know what to do with it!—

And later, when a recuperated Saira found herself pinning down a writhing woman, she watched her partner's face as she moved in and out of her. –Damn, that's beautiful. I see what men like about sex with women.—

The two of them had a perfectly lovely evening.

"I could get used to this," Saira lay exhausted and utterly content, cradling Rolanda's head on her shoulder.

"Don't; this was a one shot deal."

"Hey now! Was I that bad?"

"No, not at all. Quite good, actually. But you've made it clear you're not looking to play Professional Quidditch, so to speak, and I'm not about to get all invested in someone likely as not to change teams at any moment."

It made a sort of sense, and she certainly had no claim on the witch.

Of course, this meant that she wouldn't be able to cash in regularly on what had easily been the best lay of her life. And what could Saira say to that?

"Damn."


	27. A Morning Workout

"How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg? Four; calling a tail a leg doesn't make it a leg."

-Abraham Lincoln

* * *

Chapter 27: A Morning Workout 

Saira toweled through her hair and got ready to head down to Hagrid's hut. This morning she'd woken up next to a still groggy and quite charming bed buddy, and had given her a brief kiss on the way out. No sense burning bridges, and there was always the chance the other woman might change her mind…Saira felt a huge smile cross her face as she replayed the events of last night.

–Rolanda, you've given me ideas to wank off to for months now!—

She'd run through the halls of Hogwarts early this morning, promising the staircases she'd set fire to them if they tried to thwart her today. Last thing she needed to do was explain to her students why she was still in last night's dress. Fortunately, it was early enough that she made it back to her room safely.

Now she had to find out if the Weasleys had used her absence to cause any particularly fiendish trouble; a likely enough event. She pulled on jeans and a sweater and trotted out of her room cheerfully.

She was completely unprepared to see Ron storming down the hall white as a ghost.

"What's the matter?"

"Have you see Harry? Or Hermione? I need to find them NOW!" The boy was incredibly upset.

"No, why; what's happened?" She felt a cold dread in her stomach.

"It's Neville; McGonagall just took him to the headmaster."

"Why?"

"They think he tried to kill Graham Pritchard last night!"

"Who—WHAT!" Saira's expression changed as Ron's words sunk in. "Bloody hell!" She took off towards Dumbledore's office as if her tail was on fire. –There's no way, this is an awful mistake. Not Neville.— She stopped thinking, putting all of her concentration into reaching the headmaster's office as fast as possible. She didn't notice that someone had overheard her conversation with Ron.

She was breathing hard as she reached his door, which refused to budge when she grabbed its handle.

"Open the hell up!" she snapped, irritated by the spell bound security system.

The door did not move.

She pounded her shoulder against it and cursed. "You open up right now, or you're as good as matchsticks, you hear?"

Still, nothing,

"I'll shove a bloody lemon drop in yer keyhole and go at you with an axe unless you GIVE!"

To date, Dumbledore's records are unclear as to what the actual password was that morning. It may well have been lemon drops. It is also entirely possible that the door, sensing its combatant was deadly serious, was motivated by the necessity of self protection. At any rate, it opened and Saira flung herself up the staircase.

"—and with an incident this serious, Dumbledore, I'm sure you'll agree the boy should be held in Azkaban for questioning."

"He didn't do it!" Saira looked like a wild thing, with her still damp hair flying everywhere and her face beet red from her run.

"Professor Hansen. What a surprise." Lucius Malfoy stood next to an unfamiliar man who was wearing an ill-fitting but expensive suit.

"It couldn't be Neville." She remained firm, though she was suddenly aware that McGonagall was rolling her eyes to the ceiling and Dumbledore looked concerned. Neville had lifted his eyes off of his shoes when she'd come in, but now his head drooped low again.

"Oh?" Lucius had cold, hard eyes that glittered. "Perhaps, then, you could explain why the herbs in the drought were traced so easily back to research involving his herbology project. Or why a piece of his hair was located on the glass. **Or** why his whereabouts at the time of the attack were so conveniently unknown."

"That's simple," Saira started, planning on boldfacedly lying to the room of wizards. A bad idea, but one that never reached fruition.

"He couldn't have done it because he was with me the whole time." Saira, nerves on end to begin with, nearly flew out of her skin when a girl's voice spoke from behind her. –Kate?— The Ravenclaw hadn't been able to keep pace with her professor, but she'd followed Saira from the hallway where she and Ron had spoken.

"You?" Malfoy glared at the young girl.

"Me." Her voice shook slightly as she faced off against the tall wizard. "We went for a walk by the lake last night; it was only when we came back that we heard something had happened to Graham."

"A walk by the lake? A likely story. Can you prove it, boy?" Malfoy reached over to Neville and grabbed him by his robes, shaking him a little. Saira's ears turned beat red to match her face, a phenomena that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Neville stared at Kate. And a funny thing happened: he _blushed_.

–Is it nerves?— Saira wondered.

The boy looked between Malfoy and Kate. "No, sir," he admitted. –Well, how can you prove something like that? Ask the squid?—

"Neville!" Kate looked at him insistently. "It's okay. Show him."

Neville had managed to turn beet red down to his fingertips.

"Show what?" Malfoy's voice cut in. "I think we've had enough of this nonsense."

But then Neville, nudged by Kate's encouragement and the thought of dementors in Azkaban, did something a bit unexpected. He cleared his throat, raised a hand…and adjusted the collar of his robes. He had a giant hickey on his neck.

Saira snorted and leaned against Dumbledore's desk to right herself, trying not to laugh out loud. She heard a snicker from McGonagall's direction and a dignified throat-clearing from Dumbledore. Even the man standing with Malfoy appeared amused.

"Now Lucius," Dumbledore was the first to regain the ability to speak. "I think these events need to be reconsidered. Both of these students have nothing but glowing recommendations from all the faculty, and murder and deceit are not what we expect from them. Also, given who Mr. Longbottom's parents are, and who Ms. Cirrus' mother is, we can likely surmise that their children are not likely to cause this sort of trouble."

"Who your parents _were_ has very little to do with who you _are_." Malfoy spat out the words and Saira fervently hoped he was right, for his son's sake.

"That may be true. But entirely too much evidence is stacked against Mr. Longbottom, who has no motive for this action _and_ an alibi." Here Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It may well be planted on him to obscure the identity of the true perpetrator. I believe we should conduct a more thorough investigation."

"It's true, Lucius…the Ministry is going to want more to go on than this." Cornelius Fudge looked uneasy.

Saira pulled Neville away from Lucius, who had his fist clenched tightly on an edge of the young wizard's robes.

"The two of you, shoo!" She nudged him towards the door. "Go, get out, and don't do anything I wouldn't." –Should leave them plenty of latitude.—

"Professor Hansen?" Malfoy looked outraged as the two students hurried through the door.

"Well, sir," she began, eyes wide, "I wouldn't want mere children to hear what sort of business the Ministry will need to discuss. I'm certain you'll want your privacy." Malfoy did not look entirely convinced, but Fudge nodded enthusiastically.

"True, that," the Minister of Magic looked pleased. "Come, Lucius; we should contact the Department and begin organizing an investigation. Dumbledore!" Fudge puffed his chest out as addressed the Headmaster.

"Yes?"

"That boy is _your_ responsibility. I want you to keep an eye on him. Any funny business, any disappearing on his part, and I hold _you_ responsible."

"Certainly, sir." Dumbledore nodded gravely.

Fudge and Malfoy left the office, the latter of the two giving Saira a dark glare as he walked past.

* * *

More soon, maybe after my exams. In the meantime, review! ;-) 


	28. A Bit of a Chat

Most truths are so naked that people feel sorry for them and cover them up, at least a little bit.

-Edward Murrow

Apparently I'm fond of procrastination.

Chapter 28: A Bit of a Chat

"Well, _Professor,_ it seems you have attracted the good graces of Minerva McGonagall, such as they are." Snape seemed particularly grumpy as he entered Saira's classroom that evening.

"I doubt it; she thinks my fashion sense is hopeless."

"Rightfully so." He paused, remembering why Dumbledore had sent him. "The headmaster wishes to speak with you."

"Lovely." She put aside her lesson plans and stood, wondering if it had anything to do with the new dents she'd left on his office door.

"It may be about your disappearance last night."

"Oh?"

"The Weasleys last saw you speaking to me, and at least five people reported you left the hall looking unsettled. No doubt they suspect it's somehow my doing." His voice took on a droning quality.

—Why, Severus, is that an apology?— "Don't give yourself that sort of credit; I merely wished to end our interminably dull conversation." –I accept.—

"No doubt." The two of them headed towards Dumbledore's office.

"Severus?"

"Professor Snape," he reminded her.

She ignored him. "About that duel…"

"Anymore nonsense about it and I cast that last spell I used on you."

"Dare you to try it. Really, though—you were good. And you should have been declared the winner. That's all. Now you go back to being your sullen, sulky self, and I'll go back to tormenting you for it."

His expression remained unchanged as though he was opting to ignore her, and the two of them continued to Dumbledore's office in silence. Upon reaching its main entrance, they noticed that a small scrap of parchment had been placed upon the door: _Escorting Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy to the front gate. Please enter and have some tea._ The note vanished after they'd read it.

"Fizzing whizbees." Snape raised a hand and rubbed his temple, as though the Headmaster deliberately tortured him with his choice of password.

"What—?" Saira started to ask, then broke off as the door began opening. "Oh. Not a candy I'm familiar with."

"Count your blessings," muttered Snape. "It once took Sprout three hours to remove Zacharias Smith from the rafters after he ingested a full box at one sitting." He didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"Hmm," Saira murmured as she entered Dumbledore's office the second time that day. She wondered if he'd changed his password since this morning…

Snape sat down heavily in his usual high backed chair, resting his arms on either side.

"You don't have to wait with me," Saira observed.

"I have a message for Dumbledore that is relatively important. Believe me: I do not seek out your company any more than you do mine."

"I could tell him for you."

Snape had no words for this, just a baleful glare.

"Or not."

"It never fails to amaze me just how lacking in propriety Muggles are."

"As opposed to magical people, who show excellent manners by discretely attempting to kill each other at school functions?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You find it amusing that one of my students has been attacked?" His voice was dangerously low.

"No, I find it amusing that you keep trying to distinguish between those who can and cannot do magic as though you're classifying different species. Perhaps it was a poor choice of example…" she acknowledged.

"You have no idea how this attack has impacted Slytherin. You would be wise to keep your _poor choices_ to yourself in the future."

"I didn't even realize he was a Slytherin."

"What, only have eyes for the miraculous Harry Potter and his band of ragtag saviours?" He descended into sarcasm.

"Er, no. I don't actually know Harry that well; I'm more familiar with Ron."

Snape snorted, his opinion regarding Ron Weasley's worth clearly evident.

"What's all this stuff about the Boy Who Lived, anyway?" Saira tried to make small talk.

Snape barked out a bitter sound that might have been a laugh, of sorts.

"Have they not filled your ears to death with that nonsense yet?"

"I'd hardly be likely to ask for more, if they had."

Snape was still for so long, Saira had resigned herself to a long and tedious wait for the headmaster. His voice cut into the silence abruptly:

"When Potter was a younger though no less obnoxious version of himself, his parents were killed by a wizard named Voldemort. There are but a few students here who didn't lose some family in the years The Dark Lord was in power."

"But Harry lived through it, and that's notable?" Saira was puzzled.

"Potter didn't merely 'live through it;' rather, he survived a direct attack from Voldemort, who disappeared immediately after the incident."

"How?"

Snape shrugged. "Many have their pet theory. I have more useful ways to spend my time."

"Is Voldemort still missing?"

"Are you entirely lacking in regards to analytical skills? You think it possible for a mere infant to permanently defeat the greatest Dark Lord who ever lived?"

"I wouldn't think it possible for a mere infant to survive his attack," Saira pointed out.

"He is very much alive, and his influence is waxing yet again."

"So living through the attack is why Harry is thought to be so good with his wand?"

Snape's tone was derisive: "Potter is thought to be 'good with his wand' only because his protective lackeys trot so loyally by his side even as most of the staff routinely expend valuable energy saving him from himself."

"I take it the two of you aren't close?" Saira smirked at his obvious annoyance.

Snape had no answer for her. She tried another question:

"Where is Voldemort now?"

Snape looked utterly disgusted. "Do you really think that a powerful and dangerous wizard such as he would announce his location?"

"Well, you said he was coming back into power. I assume that means he's actively killing people again—am I right?"

Snape answered with a curt nod.

"Well, then don't you have some sort of policing force that should be able to track him down?"

"Certainly. They are referred to as Dead Wizards, and you can read about their exploits in the obituary section of The Daily Prophet."

Saira thought she might have to wire her jaw up; Snape had made a joke! –Of course, it was at my expense, but it's a joke nonetheless.—

"He's already that powerful?"

"Evidently."

"How did that happen not once, but twice?"

"How have Muggles allowed there to be not one, but two world wars? And to this day you engage in state-sanctioned warfare! I hardly think you should be critiquing the wizarding world."

"You mean some people actually support him?"

His response was snide: "I hear that in some Muggle countries, over half the populace has been known to support an avowed criminal in the form of voting."

She had no answer for that.

"Do they think he's the reason one of your students was attacked?"

Snape's eyebrows went up nearly imperceptibly as he looked at her. His answer was slow in coming.

"No. The Ministry is not considering that as a possibility. It is more likely, given the evidence, that Mr. Pritchard was attacked by someone at Hogwarts."

"Couldn't someone here work for Voldemort?"

Snape's spine was rigidly straight. "Perhaps a member of the staff? Might it be a student? Ah, perhaps a young Gryffindor." He seemed a bit more irate.

"Oh. I guess Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen."

"Presumably."

"How was Mr. Pritchard attacked?" Saira had heard from Hagrid that the boy had started convulsing on the floor of the Great Hall, and that poison was suspected and somehow linked to Neville. She hoped Snape might have more concrete details.

"A broken glass was found near him, containing traces of Monkshood and Devils Trumpet in weak liquor. Though not a formal potion, the mixture is extremely toxic and nearly caused his heart to stop beating. Madame Pomfrey believes his prognosis is poor, though she has stabilized his breathing."

"Do you think Neville did it?"

"Does my opinion matter, as you so obviously believe he did not?"

This time, she remained silent.

"No. The herbology behind the poison is remarkably simplistic, and Mr. Longbottom is rumoured to be moderately proficient in that class; how I cannot conceive. While it is possible that a more cunning student may have deliberately made weak tinctures of the herbs as a decoy, Longbottom has yet to demonstrate any sort of cerebrality that might indicate he was capable of such planning."

"Then why is he a suspect?"

"The plants were taken from a project he is currently completing for Professor Sprout. He is examining the potential use of homeopathy in mediating some of the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, with which I assume you are thoroughly familiar."

"Isn't homeopathy discredited?"

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Muggles commonly use it in their hospitals under different names. For example, chest pain has been treated with nitroglycerin in homeopathic doses since the late 1800s, with good success. Doctors may not be aware that they are using homeopathic principles, but that does not negate their effects."

"You seem to know a lot about this."

"One does not become a Potions Master by remaining ignorant." Snape contented himself with merely implying Saira's condition.

"So, if it wasn't Neville…did anyone have a motive?"

"Not one they are inclined to place on banners around the halls of Hogwarts."

Saira sat and thought. –A student drank a glass of poison. How would someone get poison into just one person's glass? And wouldn't he have noticed it tasted unusual?—

"Wouldn't the drink have tasted strange?"

Severus Snape looked at her again. Most of their conversation had been held as he addressed the mantle or the ceiling. It was only when she interested him that he shifted his gaze. He appeared to be considering.

"It would have tasted like the base formula; a weak liquor."

"And a third year wouldn't have been served liquor."

"No."

"So the taste should have surprised him. None of the students accessed the faculty punch?"

"No. And you would be wise to avoid gambling with Flitwick."

Saira snorted. "The cheating bastard." She shook her head and refocused on the discussion. "Did he bring it with him, then?"

"You are even less competent than I suspected if you are suggesting one of my students attempted suicide in front of the entire school."

"And he wouldn't have taken a drink from someone he didn't know."

"No student in Slytherin, having survived to their third year, is that simple minded."

"So he must have taken it from someone, knowing it contained alcohol." In the back of her mind, Saira remembered brushing pastry crumbs from her hands. And never picking up the glass she'd gotten from the faculty bowl. The glass that had been handed to her by Gregory Goyle.

"Yes, my dear. I, too, have reached that conclusion." Both Severus and Saira looked to the Headmaster, who had only now returned to his office.


	29. While the Cat is Otherwise Occupied

"Fortune favors the bold."

-Virgil

* * *

Chapter 29: While the Cat is Otherwise Occupied 

With most of the staff focused on investigating the events of the Halloween feast, Harry was able to slip out to visit Gringotts unnoticed, or so he thought. He had begun to worry he would never be able to map out the underground tunnels. It seemed as though there were simply too many different routes, which compounded the difficulty of the vaults not being numbered in order. While he had caught fleeting glimpses of Voldemort's vault on several occasions, his trips through the maze were too unpredictable for him to get a good idea of where it was located.

That was until he arrived at Gringotts at precisely the same time two weeks in a row and noticed that the goblin traveled along the same route in both instances. Not quite ready to trust his memory, he had restrained himself from telling Hermione and Ron until after the third time he arrived at the bank at 10:14am.

"No way."

Way. Instead of being part of a devious goblin scheme devised to make Gringotts even more impenetrable, it appeared as though the carts simply took different paths as part of a trolley system designed to prevent collisions. It was as simple as that, though most people would never discover it because they altered the time and days they visited the bank. That was the hypothesis Hermione proposed, and all three Gryffindors hoped it would hold true.

And so this week he once more arrived at the appointed time. And, in a rare smiling of fate, the goblin again guided the cart along the same route. Harry reviewed it carefully in his mind, trying to be certain he understood the relation between his vault and that of Voldemort's, which he estimated to be a little over a mile away. It was hard to get the exact distance because the speed of the cart varied so often, but he felt it wasn't an unattainably impossible trick to traverse it on foot. The problem was going to be evading whatever else might be traveling in that mile or so of corridor. He felt as though only a few more trips would be required to cement his memory of the path—from there, it was up to his friends.

Just days ago, Harry, Hermione and Ron had spent several hours discussing their next move, assuming the "cart schedule" worked as well as they hoped it did. Ron was growing confident with his lock breaking techniques and took the time to show off his newest accomplishment. From the topmost tower in Gryffindor Hall, he carefully and adroitly sent out a spell that unlocked a complex locking mechanism Hermione had placed on Hedwig's cage in the owlery, a good three towers away. In minutes, the snowy white animal swept into the room to hoot reproachfully at Harry, who had allowed her to be subjected to the indignity of being restrained in front of all her feathered friends. He offered her some mouse flavoured Owl Treats while she considered forgiving him.

Ron was so dedicated to the task of lock breaking, he actually obtained access to the Restricted Section of the library to check out the more advanced possibilities. Of course, when he'd asked Professor Hansen for a pass so he might investigate, he'd told her it was for Muggle-related research. It was a necessary fudging, as none of the other professors would be inclined to let anyone who had a name beginning with "W" and ending in "easley" anywhere NEAR that section, Ginny included. That and, as much as he liked the new professor, he didn't think she'd be inclined to support a bank robbing scheme.

Surprisingly, it was Hermione who seemed to be having trouble with her end of the project, though she refused to tell either of the boys what her plans were, once Ron got them inside the vault. She simply kept rummaging through old Hogwarts' History books and consulting with the ghostly Professor Binns. When pressed, she told them both she hoped to be prepared in under a month, "one way or another."

Harry wondered what Hermione had in mind as he headed back towards school. He was relieved his end of the project was going so smoothly, though that did mean that they would actually be trying to break into Gringotts.

As returning to his studies without any way of celebrating their newest official finding seemed a bit depressing, he pulled his broom hard to the right and headed for a brief stop in Hogsmeade. It wasn't officially a school sanctioned weekend, though he suspected the usual bunch of Slytherins would be hanging about, having long since figured out how to circumvent Hogwarts security. He thought he still might be able to nip into Honeydukes for a few treats by using his invisibility cloak, which he now carried with him thanks to the Shrinking Charm he'd learned only weeks ago.

Ever since Ron had told him about his run in with Filch, Harry had been worried that something might happen to the cloak. It was one of the very few links he had to his father, which made him protective of it in a way he didn't normally feel regarding possessions. While he'd forgiven Ron quickly for the incident of that evening (especially since the clock had been recovered), he no longer offered it for his friend to use. Ron understood, of course, contenting himself perfectly with his continual ownership of all four limbs—a state which, if the cloak had been permanently confiscated, demonstrated a perilous lack of guarantee.

Once he arrived on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Harry concealed himself and pocketed his quickly minimized broom, heading through the center of town. As he passed by Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, he nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. Not one, but _two_ familiar couples sat in the window. One gave him no cause for alarm, it merely involving Pansy and Draco out for their regular weekend tryst. The other, however, was a source of endless amusement to him: Fred Weasley and Padma Patil. –Ooh, Ron's gonna love this one…— Even as he watched, Padma was laughing and tossing her long black hair, while Fred nodded vigorously and made some dramatic motions with his hands.

Harry smirked, continuing on his way. He envied Fred the company of the beautiful Ravenclaw, but he wondered how long it could last. Padma was known for being one of the smartest in her house, which said a lot, considering the house. He wasn't sure Fred would be able to keep her interested. –Of course, that's probably the jealously talking…seems like everyone but me is shacking up with someone. Even Neville Friggin' Longbottom had a date last night. Doesn't look like I have much of a chance of finding anyone who's interested, especially after things with Cho ended so poorly. It's really a shame I'm not into boys; they'd probably be simpler to manage, and I reckon Seamus might give me a go…— He chuckled to himself, resigned. One of the side effects of being a minor celebrity was that girls either went out of their way to be impressed with him for his fame, or disgusted with him for it. And neither option really appealed to Harry.

The young Mr. Potter was still caught up bemoaning his lack of female companionship as he headed through the Honeyduke's passage back into the castle. So intent was he, he never saw one particular female observe him returning to Gryffindor Hall. And so he never suspected that Kate Cirrus might have some questions for her new beau regarding his adventurous housemate.

* * *

"Hey, how are you?" 

"Not so bad. Turns out my grandmother didn't really want to kill me, when she found out. She actually believes that I've done nothing wrong and was even proud of me for, um, standing up to Malfoy."

"You told her?" Kate looked curious.

"Well, not exactly. Dumbledore did."

"Did you tell her about me?"

"Yes…" Neville smiled and blushed. "Is that alright? I mean, I know we're not Seriously serious or anything like that, but I was really happy and—you aren't mad, are you?"

Kate laughed at that. "You're silly. Of course I'm not mad. I already owled my mum."

"Really?" Neville looked dumbfounded.

"Well, sure. Why do you look so surprised?"

Neville had a long list of reasons for being surprised, which he wisely decided not to share. Even _he_ wasn't so hopeless as to actively persuade a young lady to avoid dating him.

"Oh, well, it's just nice," he decided to say.

It was a good response, and Kate smiled at him for it.

"Hey, Neville?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering…what is Harry planning these days?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen him sneaking out of Hogwarts more than once recently, and I think there's something up."

"Probably. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah…you know, there are a few of us who want to be in on It."

"It?"

"Whatever he's planning with Hermione and Ron. I mean, with the DA sort of on the fritz at the moment, and everything happening in Muggleland, there's got to be something we can do. And I think things are past the point where those three can just go and save the world on their own, if last year was any indication. It might have worked in the past, but Voldemort's getting stronger and there are a lot of Death Eaters on the loose."

"Good point…who have you been talking with?"

"Well, Padma and Mandy, obviously. Mandy's been doing most of the brainstorming and she's got a few good ideas as to how we could be useful. And…promise you won't overreact?"

"Uh, sure."

"Pansy Parkinson, too. I got to know her better last year when we were working on a project for McGonagall together. She's got some serious magical skills..." From a Ravenclaw, it was quite the compliment.

"Huh." Neville thought for a moment. "But aren't she and Draco dating?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I guess I just thought…" Neville scrunched up his nose as he thought about Malfoy.

"Draco can be a total prig sometimes. He's got too much money and not enough sense, of you ask me. That said, he's not all bad, and he hasn't even agreed to become a Death Eater yet."

"Really?" Neville, though lovestruck, was not completely without suspicion.

"Yeah…I think his dad might still be trying to convince him, but he's not the type to take orders from anyone. Even He Who Must Not Be Named." She used the proper title in jest.

"So, last year he and Pansy were just…well, how do you explain what the Slytherins were up to last year with Umbridge?"

"Simple enough. They love power and making people they don't like miserable. They did a good job of it, don't you think?" Kate winked at Neville, who huffed and shook his head. He didn't want to ruin this relationship just yet, but some things needed to be said.

"I still don't think it's a good idea to trust Pansy; she's bound to tell Draco what's going on if he's her boyfriend, and he would definitely want to sabotage whatever Harry's up to."

"Pansy only stays with Draco because they've both got oodles of money and it's expected of them. She's seeing Blaise on the side and he's the one she actually likes. Draco knows about it and doesn't really care one way or another; we all think he's a little sweet on Snape. Don't tell, because he's likely to kill you."

Neville gulped and nodded, a bit overwhelmed by the torrent of information. Kate continued:

"The thing you have to understand about Slytherin is that many of the students there have a lot riding on what happens with Voldemort. If he's successful, some of them could profit from it; if he's defeated, they're likely to lose their families and fortunes. But that doesn't mean that they support him; mostly they resent their parents for roping them into some sort of life and death battle from the time they were born."

"Huh…but they still want to be Death Eaters?"

"Neville, think about it. What would happen to Draco Malfoy if he told his father he didn't support Voldemort?"

Neville paled.

"So you see why it's complicated."

"But you think Pansy can be trusted?"

"Pansy believes she will profit more from having Voldemort out of the way than she will if he continues to gain power."

"Why?"

"A lot of her money comes indirectly from Muggle related business. And she's spent a great deal of time working on Divination and foretells a much younger death for herself if Voldemort succeeds."

"Huh…can I think about it a little more before we plan something with them? I'm still not sure it's a good idea to have her know what's going on, depending on what they're up to."

"Sure, honey."

He grinned, liking the sound of that.

"So, are you just dating me so I can get you in on the whole scheme with Harry?"

"You really are silly. Do you think Harry is going to tell you what he's really up to?"

"Um, no—not likely."

"Exactly. I'm hoping you'll want to do something with me and my friends, to keep an eye on those three and back them up."

"What do you have in mind?" Neville was a cautious young wizard, but he'd really enjoyed being part of the DA last year and didn't like being out of the loop now. That, and having a beautiful young witch offering to spend more time with him, made him more interested than he might have been otherwise.

As Kate began to outline some of the ideas the girls were tossing around, the adults were sorting things out for themselves…


	30. Tying Some Ends, Unraveling Others

Mushrooms of virtue? Or toadstools of vice? They taste the same.

Philip Larkin

* * *

Chapter 30: Tying Some Ends, Unraveling Others 

"Albus." Snape nodded briefly. "I was beginning to suspect you were escorting our guests back to the Ministry itself."

"Not an altogether poor plan…" Dumbledore appeared thoughtful. "I apologize for keeping you both waiting. Although it is lovely to see you getting along so well."

Saira attempted to hold back a smirk. Snape did not waste the effort.

The Headmaster continued, "I stopped by the infirmary to talk to Madame Pomfrey. Mr. Pritchard is beginning to improve and she has new hopes for his recovery. She's quite the gifted Mediwitch. Oh, and Severus…"

"Yes?"

"I have taken the liberty of encouraging many of your Slytherins to return to their halls. They were attempting to tend to their housemates dutifully and appeared to be in danger of incurring the wrong end of Poppy's wand."

"Thank—_housemates_?" Snape frowned.

"Yes. A most peculiar thing. Gregory Goyle was brought in this afternoon due to some unusually strange behaviour noted by his friends. He appears a bit vacant and absent minded at the moment."

"Why was he brought in?" It was a cheap shot and Saira knew it.

Snape opened his mouth while Dumbledore hastened his own response:

"He appears to be under the influence of a powerful memory charm, the likes of which I have never seen."

"WHAT?" Snape gritted his teeth. "Has someone declared warfare on my house without notifying me?" His fists clenched and what little color had dared touch his face left the area immediately.

"I assure you, Severus, I will be putting a great deal of my attention to this matter. Especially because I suspect the two events are related."

"What are you saying?"

It was Saira who answered.

"Last night Pritchard thought he was scoring some illicit unattended punch, and it had some unexpected effects on him. Goyle knew who made the poison and someone was worried he might talk after it affected his housemate."

Both of the men stared at her, Dumbledore with a faint smile and Snape…well, you can imagine.

"Albus, I wish to go to the infirmary. Will you walk me out?" Snape was already on his feet.

"Of course." The two of them descended the stairs. When Dumbledore reappeared, his face was drawn and his steps were without their usual spring. Whatever Snape had told him in the short time they were together appeared to have tired the old wizard.

"Sir? May I get you a candy?" It was the first thing Saira could think to say.

She was rewarded with a small smile. "That might be nice," he acknowledged.

"Would you like to talk to me tomorrow, instead? I can come back…" She felt as though he had a million things to be doing, and whatever he might want to say to her was not the greatest priority.

"No, my dear. It is I who should be worried about you, what with you flying about in the middle of the night without a cloak." He cheered them both with the joke.

"Is there anything you don't know, Headmaster?" Saira leaned back against the couch and half closed her eyes.

"In the interest of honesty I must inform you I am aware of that only because I glanced out the window at a chance moment. I am not quite as omniscient as you believe, or as I wish was possible."

"Things might be a bit duller around here, if you were," she conceded.

"Indeed," he nodded. "And I would not be apologizing for neglecting to protect you from the second attempt on your life."

"I, er—second?" Saira's face scrunched up as she tried to imagine what he meant. "Sinistra didn't lay a hand on me; she saw what Kentaro had been up to!"

Dumbledore rubbed his temple as if he was wondering how he might replace his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor so late in the semester, if the need arose.

"No, Saira. Not then. Before you came here."

"I don't think Neville was _trying_ to kill me."

"Before that."

"Um…I'm sorry, I'm at a loss."

"What were you doing immediately before Neville ran his cart into you?"

"I was going to catch my train home."

"Think, Saira. What was happening?" he pressed her.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember.

"Well, I was running to make the train in time. And heading straight for the front end of it. While it was moving. I—sir, it's not something I'm proud of."

"What isn't?"

"I'm not the sort to fling myself in front of a train. Mostly I've chalked that moment up to temporary insanity and hoped it wouldn't happen again."

"I see. Perhaps it wasn't your idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Saira, when Neville ran his cart into you, I believe you were under the influence of an Imperius Curse."

"A what? How? And how do you know?"

"In order: it is a spell that compels the cursed to follow the command of the one who casts it. I believe you were followed after you left your brother's funeral by a Death Eater who intended to harm you."

Saira began to sound redundant: "A what? And you still haven't said how you know."

"A Death Eater is a follower of Lord Voldemort—you are familiar with him?"

She nodded, mentally giving Snape some very small thanks. _Very_ small.

"As to how I know, suffice it to say that I and many others are involved in trying to curtail the activities of the Dark Lord, including his attacks on Muggles. Since your brother was a wizard from a half-Muggle family and there is the possibility you might someday produce magical people of mixed lineages, I received word that you were on the list of prime targets."

"I didn't realize it was one person in charge of these attacks. When you mentioned it to me earlier, it sounded less organized."

"I apologize for not being more clear. I was unsure that you recalled the event and did not want to needlessly expose you to a distressing discovery. Additionally, I'm not certain you believed much of anything I told you the first few days you were here. Altogether understandable, given the circumstances."

She nodded thoughtfully. It was only in the last several weeks that she'd stopping trying to convince herself she was hallucinating this whole experience. "What makes you so certain I was attacked?"

"Watching you come out of the sleeping spell Severus had cast on you earlier that evening.

"How so?"

"Do you remember how sick you felt?"

"Yes." She wrinkled her nose, not being fond of vomiting.

"It is unusual for someone to have so strong a reaction to magic unless they have recently been exposed to a particularly nasty strain of it."

"So it wasn't a lady's natural reaction to being in the same room as Severus?"

"I believe you are as incorrigible as he…" Dumbledore tried to look scolding, but Saira evaded his eyes.

"So I'm not really inclined to off myself in moments of duress; good to know." Saira was pragmatic about the revelation. –So _that's_ why he was so quick to hire me without any qualifications…he wanted to be able to keep an eye on me. Why me and not any other Muggle? And, does this mean Neville saved my life? Huh!— She pushed the thoughts out of her mind to concentrate on their discussion.

"What about this current problem? I don't think Goyle likes me much, but I also don't believe he'd go so far as to try and kill me on his own."

"I concur. I believe someone else asked him to give you the drink, without him understanding its full potential."

"Assumed it was some sort of a joke?"

"I want very much for that to be true," Dumbledore spoke openly. Saira looked at him, considering. It was obvious how much he cared about his students. His bias aside, she had to admit that Goyle was not a likely mastermind of any devious plan. She considered their hypothesis.

"It seems like we're missing a few pieces. Why was Neville framed, when he's so obviously not a good suspect? Why would someone powerful enough to cast a memory charm that's unfamiliar even to you make a poison that Snape considers simplistic?"

"These are excellent questions. I share them with you."

"And do you also wonder if the newest Chair of the Committee for Muggle Protection has anything to do with it? He seemed very eager to blame this on Neville."

"The two of you seemed to be having a splendid time last night," Dumbledore said the words thoughtfully, knowing they weren't entirely true.

"And wouldn't he be glad that everyone at the party thought that, too? He couldn't be a suspect if we got along so swimmingly."

"Perhaps he will answer these questions soon, as he had been placed in charge of investigating the event."

"Tell me you're kidding."

"I would gladly, if it were possible."

It was Saira's turn to rub _her_ temples.

"Professor Hansen?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle as it broke through her burgeoning migraine.

"Yes, sir?"

"Might you do me the favor of sending for Ms. Granger on your way out? I have some news to discuss with her."

"Of course." Glad to have something useful to do, she headed to the Gryffindor common room.


	31. The Walls Can Talk

"Confound it all, Samwise Gangee. Have you been eavesdropping?"  
**"**I haven't been droppin' no eaves sir, honest. I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you'll follow me."

_ – _JRR Tolkien

* * *

Chapter 31: The Walls Can Talk 

"I don't understand why you're so upset, Severus. I will do everything within my power to see that the perpetrator is caught…" Lucius Malfoy smiled lazily as he leaned towards Snape and rested an arm on the edge of the professor's desk.

"Don't toy with me, Lucius."

"Oh, come now. You're simply being ridiculous. What was I supposed to do? Just allow the fool of a boy to do as he wished? What if he had felt some as-yet-undetected stirrings of loyalty for his housemate? What if—"

"_Enough!_ You make my position difficult enough _without_ making me privy to information so blatantly obvious even that damned Muggle is bound to figure it out. Do not tell me what I should not know."

"There are those who take this work seriously enough to believe it is worth putting certain things on the line, Severus…" Lucius laced his words with meaning.

"And there are those who realize that sheer recklessness does more to put those we serve at risk than it assists them."

Malfoy affected a theatrical pout. "I believe you are too harsh with me, Severus. Had _you_ not driven the lady from the room in tears, _I_ would have been quite successful in my plans of the evening."

"Had you been subjected to more than a few minutes of her company, I believe you might have had similar inclinations. I assure you, it is not for the sake of Saira Hansen that I am displeased."

"Pomfrey has said both boys are likely to be fine."

"Those boys you're meddling with are my responsibility. And, as one of them is such a loyal keeper of your son, I would think you too would be more cautious."

"Do not make me repeat myself. It was necessary. Had it actually been my son, there would have been no need. I have other ways of persuading him."

"I don't wish to speak of that."

Draco winced to hear Snape so easily brush aside his father's brutality; he often entertained the fantasy that his professor might be willing to shield him from it. Neither man had any idea the Malfoy heir stood not far outside the office listening to them speak. Had they known, it is likely his father would have invited him into their confidence. It is equally likely that Snape would have told him to return to the main halls of Slytherin and spoken to him later, in some depth.

As it was, neither of them had the opportunity. Draco carefully kept his location hidden and made good use of the Extendable Ears he had so recently purchased from the Weasley twins. Not directly, of course; it would do no good to allow others to see that he was financing any of their endeavors.

His purchase was more than paying for itself in the knowledge he was gathering as the two wizards continued their tense conversation.

"Do you think my son is beyond my command?"

"Now Lucius, far be it for me to suggest anyone in your household is beyond your beck and call."

"What are you inferring?"

"I believe I was quite direct in my comment."

"My son will be joining our ranks soon, Severus."

"I do not believe anyone doubts the son of Lucius and Narcissa would do less."

"He is merely waiting until he comes of age so that our Lord might have a more worthy servant."

"Which I fully support; he has more than enough children pledging their services. Your son is not the issue at hand." Snape again tried to turn the subject away from Draco.

However, it appeared that Draco was a topic that Lucius wished to pursue at the moment.

"Why don't you discuss this with him?"

"I beg your pardon?" Snape's tone suggested he did anything but.

"Why don't you, too, urge him to join us sooner? Even Crabbe and Goyle have done more work on my son than his own house master has invested."

"To what end?"

"To his credit and chance of success, of course!" Lucius was irate. "Why else you do think I had him assist me with—"

"LUCIUS." Snape slammed his hands down on his desk and stood up, looking down on the other man with a cold hard stare. "Have you lost ALL of your senses?"

"How dare you speak to me—"

"How dare you risk that boy's schooling? If this gets out, do you suppose Dumbledore will turn a blind eye to an attempt on a student's—no, PROFESSOR'S—life? I will not be able to influence his decision in this. How is Draco any good to you if he has no pretense of acceptability? Especially with you so recently in Azkaban?"

Lucius waved away Snape's complaints. "They'll never make the mistake of sending me to Azkaban again; I have seen to it. And, as **I** remain in charge of this investigation, it is extremely unlikely that anything unfortunate will be discovered. Really, Severus, sometimes I fear you underestimate me…"

"In what regard?"

"Suffice it to say that I have a keen sense of my son's worth." Lucius looked as though he intended to elaborate.

"I am sure you have many things to tend to, with this ongoing _investigation_." Snape's tone was snide. "Perhaps you should tend to them now. Allow me to escort you to the door." For him, it was a remarkably tactful dismissal.

"Think on it, Severus. I would be most distressed if our Lord were to suspect one of his servants was less than enthusiastic about obtaining new recruits."

"I hardly see the challenge in the matter," Snape sniffed, as he escorted Malfoy across the classroom. The professor stood in the doorway a long moment after the other man had left, listening to the sound his heavy silver cane made on the floors of the hall.

Then he turned directly to where Draco was hiding.

* * *

"Come out." He was neither kind nor harsh. 

Draco hesitated only a second: he knew he'd been caught.

"Well?" Snape glared down at the younger Malfoy, his irritation evident.

"Sir…I wanted to know. What my father was doing. Because of Pritchard and Goyle and because, well, he _is_ my father," Draco grasped for an explanation.

Snape looked at him, considering. "Come into my office a minute," he finally said, noting the way the boy's face lit up at the invitation.

The two of them sat in the office, and this time Severus put up wards on the door, muttering something about the regrettably undersought benefits of contraception in regards to Molly and Arthur Weasley.

"And so, Draco…have you anything useful to add to the conversation?" Snape spread his hands out on the edge of his desk, observing them.

Draco flushed with importance. "Are you going to talk to me about being a Death Eater? Because I've already told my father I will, once I'm 18."

"And why have you told him that?" Though Snape appeared to be focused on Draco he was simultaneously sending a brief but virulent mental string of curses towards Lucius, who had long ago revealed to his son that his Potions professor was also a Death Eater. –What an interesting position this is…perhaps Dumbledore should never have hired me.—

"Because then I'll be an adult. And out of Hogwarts."

"One is more likely than the other," Snape observed.

"What are you saying?"

"If you can't puzzle it out, I shant burden you with the knowledge," Snape seemed to be resisting a wry smile. "Now, humor me in this: why do you want to follow your father's line of work?"

"What do you mean?" Draco was suddenly on the defensive.

Snape responded by staring at the boy directly, the full brunt of his piercing gaze pinning him to his chair. Draco squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's my heritage; didn't you just say that no one expects anything else of me?" The boy's voice was bitter. "It's power enough, if I can work my way into the inner circle. And I'm sure father will see to that."

Snape continued to look at the boy, his eyes narrowing. Draco continued:

"I'd rather have power in my own right, of course, but there's no room for that right now. And I suppose there are aspects of the work I will find…rewarding."

Somewhere in Snape's memory, a flippant comment Saira had made came to light. –Something about tossing spells at Muggle passerbys…that inane woman.— Dismissive though he was in regards to the source, the comment stuck with him.

"Oh?" Snape drew Draco out.

"It's true that something needs to be done about the Muggles and Mugbloods. This can't be allowed to continue any longer." The most chilling thing about the boy's assessment was his conversational tone, as though he was discussing weeding dandelions from the lawn.

"And what will that solve?" Snape sat back in his chair idly, affecting the manner of the unimpressed.

"What—what do you mean?" Draco looked surprised.

"How do we profit from their extinction?"

"We simply do! No longer can they persecute us—we avenge the deaths of those before us. We claim their world as our own."

"And so you will join Voldemort to remove what you see as the greatest threat to your personal success?" Snape's question was deliberately leading.

"Well, yes…" Draco's voice drifted off as he considered what the greatest threat to his success might be. To Snape's eye, he appeared to be settling on an answer somewhat outside the realm of Muggles…

"I believe it important that every wizard identify their greatest obstacle and face it, Draco. It is to your credit that you should do that."

Their conversation ended with that.


	32. Follow the Leaders

"All women are natural born espionage agents."

Eddy Cantor

* * *

Chapter 32: Follow the Leaders 

"Hey, Harry—where are you off to?" Neville looked up from an armchair as his housemate headed towards the door.

"Oh, just to practice some new stunts on my broom." Harry didn't even break his stride as he answered.

Neville nodded as if only vaguely interested and looked back into his book. Harry hadn't been gone more than a minute when the other boy hopped up from the post he'd held all morning and ran to the Ravenclaw common room.

He had scarcely crossed the entrance when Kate reached out and whisked him into her chambers under the carefully unobservant eyes of the Ravenclaw prefects, who believed they had Better things to do than segregate witches and wizards. Besides which, they logically reasoned that same sex couples had all the privacy they wanted; Hogwarts should take care to provide equal "opportunity" for all. Ravenclaws, being brilliant, tended to find ways to use logic and knowledge to their keenest advantage, a fact not often brought into the limelight but one that opened the doors for many inter-house relations between them and Slytherin. It was this philosophy that assisted Neville in finding himself thrown into a room with four very keyed up young women, all anxious to set their plans in motion.

Kate had suspected Harry would keep to his strange Saturday morning schedule and she'd gotten her friends ready to do some investigative work. Padma, Mandy, and yes—Pansy, too, were waiting for Neville to tell them when and how Harry had left school grounds.

Adding Ms. Parkinson to their group had taken some serious persuasion on Kate's part. Suffice to say, she was seriously persuasive. Neville still wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to convince him so quickly.

Now, Neville looked at the roomful of estrogen staring him down and had a brief moment of disbelief. It wasn't often that women looked at him so hopefully; dating Kate was turning out to be amazingly good for his ego.

"Well?" Mandy wasted no time getting to the business at hand. "By footpath, broom, or something more creative?"

"Broom," Neville responded, "He left only minutes ago. Are you planning to fly after him?"

"Not me," Mandy grinned in anticipation. "I was set to go on Hidden Passage Duty; I've memorized most of them. But, if Harry's going by air we have to break out our secret weapon or he'll notice he's being followed. Go to it, Pansy."

Pansy Parkinson shook her dark bangs out of her eyes and manufactured a rather cocky grin. The smallest of the four girls, her petite frame often seemed overwhelmed by the bulky Hogwarts robes. She wasn't the sort who was often thought of as "pretty," but that had more to do with her attitude than her appearance. Perhaps a bit too bony and angular, she had discerning dark eyes and a fierce energy that warned others to show respect and caution in their dealings with her. Being the only child of a wealthy and powerful family had ensured that she hadn't wanted for much in her childhood. This was a theme that was carrying over into her near-adult years. Since she'd never been told there was anything she couldn't have or shouldn't do, she wasn't inclined to consider the possibility of denial or failure as curbs to her ambition. She was an admirable specimen of Slytherin.

Flourishing her wand elegantly a few times for showmanship purposes, the tiny girl walked to the side of Kate's room and crouched low on the floor, away from the group.

"Is she okay?" asked Neville, confused and concerned by the strange behaviour.

"Shhh…" Padma murmured. "You'll see."

And see he did. Before their eyes, Pansy Parkinson accomplished a feat few grown witches would ever manage. There was a nearly tangible heat from the magic in the air around her. Her skin began wavering in and out of focus as her short black hair lengthened and spread out, a glossy layer wrapping itself around her body. Her narrow face stretched and twisted in contortions that were painful to watch, though she made no sound that indicated discomfort. Arms folded and spread abruptly even as legs shrunk down into yet smaller versions of themselves; she wobbled uncertainly for a minute before the spell was complete. Somehow, she had managed to transform herself into a raven.

"I told you she had serious skills," Kate whispered in Neville's ear. Neville just stared, mouth open, at the sleek bird that sat where the girl had once been. Pansy eyed him triumphantly.

He had seen Animagi before; McGonagall had shown off many times during their schooling, and he'd known that Sirius was capable of turning into a large black dog. But this? A mere sixth year student, capable of such advanced magic?

"What do they teach you guys in Slytherin?" He was impressed. "Is she Registered?"

Mandy gave him a significant look, one that managed to convey not only a "no," but also implied the sort of dire fate that might befall anyone foolish enough to discuss such things outside their immediate circle. Neville nodded thoughtfully, taking half a step back from the intensity of the girl's expression.

Having made the appropriate impression, Mandy explained their plan: "She's going to follow Harry. Chances are she'll be able to catch up with him; she can pull in about 80km an hour. He can't have gone too far, not just yet. This is our best bet for finding out what he's been up to this year." Pansy the raven turned her head away from them all and nodded thoughtfully to herself,  
hopping onto the window sill. Without any hesitation, she pitched herself into the cool fall air and her newly sprouted wings propelled her out of her friends' sight in an instant.

* * *

Saira looked up as she saw the large black bird soar overhead. –Ravens? Haven't seen many of them around here…— She dismissed the sighting almost immediately, as something a bit more interesting was on her mind. Today, on her way to Hagrid's hut, she had seen Snape entering the Forbidden Forest yet again. She was now more than curious as to why. 

After watching Snape disappear within its recesses a few weeks ago, she'd asked Hagrid if there was any reason a member of the staff might need to travel within the forest unattended. He'd thought she was referring to herself, and had done his best to reassure her that no, no student or staff at Hogwarts went into the forest on their own for any reason, excepting himself.

"Not even to gather herbs for spells or potions?" she'd asked.

"Oh, no. What Sprout can't grow 'ereabouts, they buy in town. Besides, tha sort o' things growin' in tha Forest aren't 'ard to come by; why bother Centaurs an' Acromantulas if you don't 'ave ta?"

Saira was inclined to agree. Which meant that Severus Snape had to be going in there for a reason. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was up to something, and that something was probably not quite good.

–He dresses all in black, which everyone knows is an evil tip off. As well as slimming, but I'm digressing. Most of the students are afraid of him. His personality could be bottled as birth control. He can do incredibly powerful and dangerous spells, **and** he does business with Lucius Malfoy…he's got to be up to no good.— Having come to a working conclusion, Saira thought it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the Potions Professor, as a favour to Dumbledore. She wondered just how surprised Snape had really been by the events at the Halloween Feast and thought it was peculiar that both of the students involved had been members of his house.

She wrapped her cardigan sweater around her body more tightly, resolving to go into town and get some more clothes before winter came in full swing. It was cold, and she shivered as she stood at the edge of the forest, uncertain. She'd only ventured in twice, both times with Hagrid there to protect her. And even then, the dark woods and strange, sudden sounds had made her nervous.

Something cold and wet abruptly smacked into her hand, making her squeak in surprise and fear. "Fang!" Hagrid's gigantic Great Dane wuffed snot and drool affectionately against Saira's arm. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, are you coming with me?" She looked him hopefully. The dog was broad-chested and muscular, and his large white teeth looked as though they'd be good protection. She took a step into the forest and looked over her shoulder.

Fang whimpered. His huge frame cowered down onto his belly, and he cocked his head sideways at Saira. "No freakin' way; are you nuts?" was clearly conveyed in Dogspeak.

"Oh, come on…please?" Saira couldn't believe she was begging a dog to escort her someplace. Her efforts were wasted, as Fang merely sighed out a hot blast of air and yet more snot before resting his head on his enormous paws.

"Wuss." Saira shrugged and headed off into the woods in the direction she'd seen Severus go. She hadn't been certain she was actually going to try following him, but being confronted with Fang's cowardice made her ashamed of her own. –I won't go too far in. I just want to see where he's heading…then I'll ask Hagrid about the area.—

She was in the process of seriously underestimating the forest.


	33. Surmising

"What we see depends mainly on what we look for."

-John Lubbock

* * *

Chapter 33: Surmising 

Harry never noticed his avian company as he directed his broom toward Gringotts.

He had too much on his mind, with Hermione in such a rough state. He kept thinking about his housemate storming back into the common room after Professor Hansen had called her out to see Dumbledore. She had seemed more angry than sad following the news she'd been told: her parents had been attacked. The Ministry had sent out Aurors when the Guard Network had alerted them to an attack in progress, and they'd managed to arrive in time to Apparate them out of their suddenly burning house before they were harmed. Dumbledore had moved them to a new location within the Muggle Protection Network and wanted to reassure Hermione that the Ministry was doing everything in their power to protect them.

Hermione was not in the mood to be reassured. She had pleaded with Dumbledore to let her parents come and stay at Hogwarts, or at the very least in Hogsmeade. It seemed a reasonable enough request to her, since it had so clearly been proved a life or death situation. Telling Harry and Ron about it later, she hadn't been able to meet either of their eyes as she explained what had taken place.

"He said he was sorry, but he couldn't make an exception for me because then he'd have to let everyone's family stay. He said the Ministry didn't have enough resources to move everyone here or support and protect them in the wizarding world, especially with the attacks escalating." Hermione had paused in the telling, and both Ron and Harry had readied to comfort her. She'd cut them off.

"No, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it…" She had been fighting back tears at this point, and none too successfully.

"What is it, 'Mione?" Ron had been hesitant as he'd put an arm around her, not wanting to get hexed for his best efforts.

"Harry, I'm sorry! I was just so angry. I was practically yelling at Dumbledore. I said that if I were you and his favorite student, he'd make an exception for me—and that he was a hypocrite not to. I wanted to get him to change his mind when crying and begging hadn't worked, but of course he didn't. And now I want you to hear it from me, if you're going to hear it at all. Please, don't hate me for talking about you like that!"

Hermione had buried her face into her hands and let Ron hug her. Harry had joined in on the comforting after only the briefest of pauses, and done his best to reassure his friend that he didn't hold a grudge, and that he understood why she'd said it.

But the truth was, he didn't. He didn't feel like Dumbledore's favorite anything. Instead, he felt the pressure of the old wizard's hopes and expectations with him everywhere, especially since the two of them had discussed the prophecy about him and Voldemort. And he couldn't help feeling a little bitter that he didn't have parents for Dumbledore to protect, so it wasn't terribly likely that Dumbledore could make that special exception for him, anyway.

Being set aside as different time and time again was continuously trying for him. He felt as though no one else could possibly understand what it was like to grow up without parents, or how that made him feel. That alone would have been enough, but being saddled with the ridiculous-sounding responsibility of overthrowing the greatest Dark Wizard of the day was more than a bit daunting for your average teenage wizard. He'd rather focus on anything else, excepting Potions homework.

Gritting his teeth against his personal hurt, he sped on towards Gringotts. As he had learned to do over the years, he pushed his anger towards the one socially acceptable target for it: Voldemort.

* * *

Padma closed the window behind her, and Pansy spent a few minutes transfiguring back. She rested her exhausted human form on the wooden floor afterwards, completely drenched in sweat. 

"Hey Kate, do you have anything to drink? Or eat? I'm dying here." The girl had decided against eating any number of small bugs she'd seen that day, in deference to her human persuasions.

"Sure thing, Pansy." Though all of them were eager to hear her news, they remained respectfully patient for as long as possible. In Mandy's case, that was about 45 seconds.

"Were you able to follow him?" The Ravenclaw didn't know how to be anything but direct.

Pansy looked up over the rim of the cup she had been drinking out of and arched an eyebrow to convey mild irritation. But she still nodded.

"Sure did. He went all the way to Knockturn Alley. That's what took me so long; I had to rest before I could come back." It was now early in the evening.

"What did he do there?" Neville dared to ask a question.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. He just went to the bank." Pansy appeared disappointed that all her effort had gone into discovering the mundane.

"I don't think he's 'just been going to the bank' for a month or so…" Padma sounded considering.

"Well, there's no guarantee that he's been going to the same place every time," Kate observed.

"But he's taken roughly the same amount of time for every trip you've noticed, give or take a half hour," Mandy countered. "It seems too regular a pattern for it to be for different destinations."

Pansy didn't appear to buy it. "What's so special about going to Gringotts? He's got enough money."

"But why go so often?" Mandy asked.

"It's really not **that **often; Draco's mother goes twice a week!" Pansy shook her head in exasperation, as if she had to explain everything about the civilized wizarding world to her friends.

"That's another story altogether." Kate made a joke of it.

"Well, it's true that she has _considerably_ more reasons to go to the bank…" Pansy agreed, her mouth twisting into a wicked smile. As this woman was likely to be her mother-in-law if for no other reason than appearances sake, she had every reason to delight in her extensive fortune—though, perhaps not at the expense of others.

The Ravenclaws rolled their eyes. Neville began to look indignant on his housemate's behalf, but decided against confronting Pansy for the jab.

"Let's assume he's really been going to the bank every time," Neville began logically. "We can check again next week to make sure, right?"

Pansy looked up from rubbing her sore arms and gave him a dark glare, which he politely took as an affirmative.

"So, why would he need to go so often? He doesn't need his money; we don't buy any new books or supplies this late in the year, and he's bound to have enough pocket change for small things." Neville was making a good point.

"Maybe it's not **his** money he's interested in…" Pansy inferred, her tone quietly suggestive. It's a funny thing, watching a Slytherin mind at work: they are quick, devious, and have very low expectations of most people. And they are usually right.

"Well, then whose money is he scoping out?" Mandy humored Pansy's train of thought for a minute.

"Might he be planning a robbery? Perhaps he plans on outfitting Mr. Weasley a bit more appropriately…" Pansy couldn't resist.

"Lay off," Neville began, as his girlfriend rested her hand gently on his arm.

"Pansy!" Kate admonished.

"Oh, right." The Slytherin eyed Neville with some degree of amusement. "Well, if that's not it, then what…"

Padma tapped her chin, trying to think of something practical and rational. "Well, who would they be interested in getting money or objects from, assuming they're interested in a vault that isn't theirs?"

"Well, no one less than Voldemort could insight such behaviour from those _honorable_ Gryffindors…" Pansy didn't try to keep the snideness out of her tone.

"Exactly," Kate agreed. They all looked at her in silence, considering the possibility.

Neville utilized the instant to turn a lovely shade of pale.

"We don't know any of this for certain!" he was quick to point out.

"True…I suppose I'll have to go next week, after all…" Instead of looking irate as she had only minutes ago, Pansy seemed thoughtful.

"One way or another, we should still keep working on our plans," Mandy declared.

"I agree. Neville, you'll be meeting us all in the Shrieking Shack tomorrow, right?" Padma looked at him directly, and Neville nodded without showing any of the hesitation he felt.

Did he have _any_ backbone when it came to women?


	34. Hit and Run Faster

"I live my life a quarter mile at a time. For those ten seconds or less I'm free."  
-The Fast & The Furious

* * *

Chapter 34: Hit and Run Faster 

Saira chuckled, surprised by the sight of the rusting car abandoned near a small stream. Of all the things she'd expected to see in the Forbidden Forest, a bright blue Ford Anglia hadn't made the list.

It looked like the car had seen better days. It was missing its back bumper and its front end was mostly smashed in, which matched the rest of the dents throughout its body. The hood was slightly ajar and the front window cracked, but it didn't look completely unsalvageable.

"I've seen worse," Saira said to the car. –Oh dear, I've started talking to inanimate objects; there goes what's left of my sanity!—

It backfired in response.

"What!" She approached it more warily, no longer under the assumption that she was merely confronting the mundane.

The car flashed its lights at her, and the engine sprung to life. It had a distinct rattle.

"Sounds like something's up with your oil pump," she tried to make a joke of the situation, which was steadily getting stranger.

The car opened its hood and turned off the engine, though the lights stayed on. Saira had the impression that she was being watched by two tons of metal. She did what any logical person might do: she backed away slowly.

The car rolled towards her.

She stopped. So did it.

She took another step away.

It followed.

–Bloody hell!— She ran through the woods, the car in hot pursuit. She tried heading for a denser area, hoping that it wouldn't be able to follow her through the trees. Glancing over her shoulder brought a welcome wave of relief. The car was gone.

No, not gone. Just temporarily out of sight. With a roar of its engine, the Anglia zoomed through the air above her head. She ducked down and ran in earnest now, trying to make her way out of the woods before she ended up wearing an unflattering metal hat.

She had been so focused on avoiding the car she hadn't been paying any attention to the terrain. Now, she was only dimly aware of an unpleasant smell that seemed to be traveling with her. She glanced down, realizing she was up to her shins in… —Dog shit? How in hell?—

It was then that she saw the bones. She stopped abruptly in her flight from the Ford, which even now was screeching on its brakes to turn back towards her. Within the slight clearing she'd ran into were piles of broken bones that looked as though they belonged to bears or horses. They'd all been given a good chewing.

And the creature that had been chewing on them was approaching her.

–Now is a good time to freak out…— Saira felt her stomach drop in absolute terror as she stared into the face—no, **faces, **of a three headed dog. It was all fangs and rose up easily up to her shoulder in height. The fact that one head was growling while the other two had started to bark and snarl did not make her think that saying "nice puppy," was going to be a useful tactic.

And the car was getting closer, barreling out of the sky towards her.

–Well, it looks like certain death, or certain death.— The dog started circling, and the car was headed straight at her head. She closed her eyes, hoping that whatever happened would happen fast.

She opened them as the car started honking loudly and slammed on its brakes yet again. It pulled up alongside her and opened the passenger's side door. The three headed dog didn't seem in the least deterred by this and was now lunging towards her, all mouths open.

Saira hopped into the Anglia with her fingers crossed, slamming the door shut behind her. The car took off into the woods with the snarling creature in hot pursuit.

Fortunately for Saira, the dog had only four legs and not much endurance. Or maybe it had just decided that it didn't like its prey wrapped in tin. One way or another, it stopped following her and the car slid into a steep embankment for a rather abrupt landing.

"Um, thanks…" She wasn't sure what to say.

The car's engine idled, with the rattling noise much less noticeable.

"I guess I owe you an oil change, or something."

It backfired cheerfully.

"Um, I don't have any oil or tools on me. I don't suppose you'd be willing to take a raincheck? Do you know where Hagrid lives?" —I can't believe I'm having a conversation with a car!—

It honked an affirmative. She sighed in relief.

"Well, if you take me there, I'll have him send away for some oil. And I'll give you a tune up, to boot."

The car rumbled amiably and began driving sedately through the woods. Saira sat back, hoping for the best but not quite ready to trust her fortune.

It was getting near twilight and she had long since given up on ever finding out what Snape was up to. –Far better to just ask him what he's secretly planning; I at least have a _chance_ of surviving that encounter.— She was not feeling like she wanted to rack up any more frequent flyer miles in the Forbidden Forest.

She looked around the inside of the car, appreciating the modifications someone had obviously put a lot of time and effort into making. Saira was willing to wager that there had been quite a few magical changes and she was interested in learning more about them. For one, what was the point of that silver button on the dashboard?

—Oh, why not?— Never one to resist temptation, she reached out and pushed the button. Seconds passed and nothing happened, and she felt a mixture of resignation and relief. Perhaps whatever it was had been damaged over time?

Then the car disappeared.

She yelped in surprise and then outright hollered when she looked down and didn't see herself, either. –We're invisible? This is worse than Ron's cloak!—

She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly where the button had been. By feeling around on the dash she found it and pushed down again. To her relief, she and the car both reappeared.

—Huh, that's kind of neat. Let's try it again.—

She pressed the button a third time, this time enjoying the abrupt disappearance it caused. But, only seconds after they disappeared, the car stopped suddenly and its engine cut out.

—Ai! I've gone and broke the bloody thing.— Saira reached for the button again, but a sudden closing of a seatbelt around her kept her from moving. "What in hell—"

But she never finished that sentence as she now realized she was looking down a hill at a circle of people in robes and hoods, all of whom were standing around a smoky fire.

—What _is_ this? It doesn't look like the Hogwarts Faculty Picnic…—

From where the car had abruptly parked itself she could clearly hear a man shrieking in pain. Nearby voices laughed and yelled what sounded like encouragement. She sat very still, afraid they might see through the invisibility charm.

They were too far away to actually see what was going on, but Saira knew it couldn't be good. She heard women's voices carrying through the melee, and they sounded like they were encouraging someone.

"Do it again!"

"Brilliant!"

She cringed, wondering what, exactly, would be done again. Then the screams came a second time and she felt as though she knew well enough what was going on. –Should I do something? But what?— The car, sensing that she realized what was going on, had gently unbuckled the belt that had wrapped her so tightly. But still, she had no idea how to deal with what looked to be 20 or so witches and wizards. Plus whoever they were abusing.

The screams continued. This time they sounded like they were coming from a different person. Then there was a silence that was somehow more chilling than the screams. No one seemed to be saying or yelling anything.

Then she heard one sinister voice carry to where she sat, frozen in place.

"I hope this has been a useful reminder for you all…I expect complete loyalty and I will obtain it. You will continue with our plans. Begone!"

She watched as the fire disappeared abruptly, followed by the circle of people surrounding it. One after another, or in groups of two or three, they faded from view. Finally, all that was left was a figure standing over two bodies on the ground. Another voice reached her ears, and this time it was a familiar one.

"I expect you will find your way back, eventually. I will dispose of this in the meantime…"

Lucius Malfoy. The figure she attributed to him bent down to a body on the ground, and the two of them disappeared.

Only one body was left, lying motionless in the darkening night.

—Is this real? What if it's a trap? What if they're all just invisible?— Saira felt herself still scared a bit witless.

The car began coasting down the hill towards the body, and she felt herself trying to trust its judgment. It parked only feet away from the figure and opened the passenger side door.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered to her metal escort, pausing to press the invisibility button one last time. "And please, PLEASE don't go off and leave me here."

The car turned on its lights, sending a pool of light around the victim. With hesitation in her every movement, Saira left the relative safety of the car and walked over to the body.

And looked down at a rather bloody version of Severus Snape. The man groaned something unintelligible, causing Saira to step back in horror. Whatever she had expected he might be up to, getting a royal asswhupping hadn't been a consideration.

She bent down and tried to lift him up. He was too heavy, so she ended up dragging him into the backseat of the car, which obligingly opened its doors for her. After she hopped in beside him, the car went airborne at a purposeful speed.

Saira tried to wipe the blood off the wizard's face, talking to him as she did so.

"Are you in there? Severus? Wake up, damn you…" She felt herself getting in over her head. What was Dumbledore going to say to this?

"Dawshhh.."

"What? What did you say?"

"Smulls…lah dawshhht."

"Oh, you'd notice." Saira felt a smallish tinge of relief. After all, a man who noticed the smell that coated her shoes and pant legs wasn't likely to be on death's door.

The car landed at Hagrid's hut and she ran inside, flinging open the door without any attempt at knocking. Hagrid took at look at her and saw the car parked past his front stops. A quick glance at its remaining passenger caused him to throw a wad of powder into his fireplace, which flashed with an urgent green light.

Dumbledore seemed to be there only minutes later and Snape was taken to the hospital wing still mostly unconscious. Saira thought it was a state she'd like to be in as well, given the events of the day. She'd sworn secrecy to Dumbledore and arranged to meet with the old wizard the next morning and discuss what she'd seen and done. Right now, he was mostly concerned with Snape's wellbeing.

She was left alone with Hagrid and the two of them sat quietly outside by the car, which had turned itself off and appeared in Saira's mind to be sleeping.

"Hey, Hagrid?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever seen a giant three headed dog in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Ya mean Fluffy! 'Ow is the little lad?" Hagrid's face was covered with a joyous, expectant smile.

Saira resisted the urge to throttle him.

* * *

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Please review. :-) Comments are good!


	35. Walking Sticks

"The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking...the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker."

-Albert Einstein

* * *

Chapter 35: Walking Sticks

Saira watched idly as the staircase swung away from the steps she stood on, barring her from her destination. Though she had plans to meet with Sinistra in only minutes, she was in too much of an absentminded funk to resort to her usual string of curses. Her encounter with Dumbledore had been days ago, but it had left her in the sort of pensive mood that made her poor entertainment for the fiery witch. The staircases, surprised to meet with so little resistance, reconsidered their morning torture and allowed her on her way.

She didn't even notice.

Her feet acted on their own accord, taking her to the castle gates where they'd agreed to convene. Sinistra had insisted on hauling her out to get new clothes since she'd mangled shoes and pants to the point where even the house elves refused to touch them. –Thanks, Fluffy.—

Saira remembered the multiple fanged heads charging towards her and shuddered. Where she'd once thought that the key to invoking true horror was in the threat of the unknown, recent events left her reconsidering. It seemed that magical realities could turn out to be far more frightening than anything her Muggle mind could conceive. But she didn't want to think about that just now.

"Hey, Sinistra...anything new?"

"Not a bloody thing, Hansen. Wish it were otherwise, but Saul doesn't seem inclined to propose before the holidays."

"Say that again?"

"Propose. I suppose you Muggles have something akin to marriage contracts?" Sinistra grinned.

"How long have you been dating him?" It was intended as a rhetorical question.

"Long enough. At my age, it's all relative. Besides, we can always divorce if it doesn't work out."

"It sounds like you've been doing your pre-nuptial counseling with Britney Spears."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Saira felt a smile cracking through the gloom on her face.

"Now that's better," Sinistra approved. "I thought you were going to sit there sulking for the whole walk into town."

"I do not _sulk_," Saira huffed.

"My mistake. Perhaps you always look as though you're suffering the effects of last night's firewhiskey."

"I wish!" Saira felt like a good stiff drink might not be the worst idea Sinistra had ever had.

"Well, we _are_ heading into town…might as well enjoy all there is to offer."

"So to speak."

"Indeed. And, while we're on our way, you can explain to me why Snape is even more of a lout than usual lately, why Dumbledore has you in his office every five minutes, and why Slytherin seems to be expanding the boundaries of their dormitory to include the hospital wing."

"That's a tall order."

"It's a longish walk." The two women headed down the muddy path to Hogsmeade.

"Well, for starters—I hadn't realized Snape was being more himself than usual. I haven't seen him in nearly a week." —True enough, and I did promise Dumbledore I'd keep my mouth shut.— Snape had ended up being relatively fine physically, with only his mood worse for the wear once Poppy spent some time un-concussing him. He hadn't even missed a day in his teaching schedule, though undoubtedly most of his students wished it were otherwise. If he was feeling any poorer than usual it could only mean particularly focused torture for them.

Saira had a feeling that the wizard Malfoy had taken away wasn't so lucky. After all, one doesn't usually "dispose of" the living. She'd tried to convince Dumbledore they should report Lucius to the wizarding authorities but the Headmaster had disagreed, explaining that her word against Malfoy's would be useless in wizarding court and only mark her as a target for more attacks. She was still peeved.

She continued their conversation. "As for Dumbledore—well, it sort of has to do with the whole Pritchard thing. He thinks that I was a target for the poison."

"Yes, yes," Sinistra interrupted impatiently, "Hooch brought me up to date on all of that after Malfoul got himself put in charge of the whole investigation. But why was Goyle hit with a memory charm? Someone worried he might talk?"

"That's the going theory."

"Hmm." Sinistra was silent for a few minutes while she turned some thoughts around in her head.

"And, Hansen—what's up with you? You seem in a funk to rival our Dungeon Master."

"Ha. Just tired, mostly. Sort of sick of all the anti-Muggle stuff going on. You know, the usual."

"So it has nothing to do with seeing a horde of Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest?"

Saira's eyes opened slightly as she looked at the witch next to her.

"Say that again?"

"You're sounding redundant this morning; it's quite unbecoming." A glimmer of amusement danced in Sinistra's eyes. "Snape and I go way back. Despite our best intentions, we're friends of sorts. I pulled for him when he came to Dumbledore all those ago, and I've seen him getting treated by Poppy many times since. Including a pretty recent time. I thought you might want to talk about it."

Saira was silent for a minute. She _did_ want to talk about it, but wasn't sure where to begin attacking what had become a rather drawn out missive in her mind.

"Do you know about my brother?"

"Of course. I could hardly continue to hold my reigning title of Hogwart's Dirt Digger Extraordinaire if I missed that little tidbit," the witch teased.

Saira smiled. Somehow, Sinistra's complete lack of tact made it easier to talk to her. You rarely had to guess what she was thinking, for one.

"Well, he had an aversion to magic that I couldn't understand when I first heard about it. I thought he was a little daft to be _able_ to do all these amazing things but choose not to exploit the talent. I had this fairytale idea that magic created a potential for people to do really great things and that there was a sort of creation and discovery made possible only through the use of it. Only, it turns out that magic can be used in some seriously horrific ways, and the fairytale is more along the lines of something the Grimm Brothers might have written."

"They're famous Wizard historians. Did you know that?"

"Ah…no. But I'm not surprised."

"But you are surprised that magical people have as much free will as Muggles?"

"Huh?"

"Come on, Hansen—do you think Muggles are the only ones who have a propensity for evil? It's not the magic that does anything wrong. Even the Dark Arts, judiciously applied, have their use." She looked a little too knowing for Saira's comfort as she continued.

"Your brother made a choice and maybe that was fine for him. But it's sort of like saying 'if you don't like the country, leave.' Sure, that means you don't have to face situations you disagree with. But it also means that you don't take a role in making things any better."

Saira didn't look convinced. "Shouldn't it matter **how **you try to make things better? The ends don't always justify the means, and so few people here take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. Even on Dumbledore's front, I don't think there's much of that going on."

"Oh?" Sinistra seemed more amused than offended.

"Well, he told me that for the last few years, they've been depending pretty heavily on the efforts of underage wizards to further their cause. Have you ever heard of the Crusades?"

"Hansen! You're as bad as I am…" Sinistra was snickering. "It sounds trite, but Harry Potter is no ordinary boy. And I know it's absolutely absurd that he should be facing off against Voldemort time and time again, with a frequency that uncannily matches the passing of school years, but the kid's managed to keep himself alive so far and he's done some serious damage to Voldemort's plans. We'd all be in pretty bad shape if it wasn't for him."

Saira shook her head and switched her argument to one she thought Sinistra might take more seriously.

"Then what about Snape?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why is he allowed to act as a double agent, when it means he's more likely to get tortured and killed? Dumbledore actually encourages him to go to Voldemort."

"And what would happen if he didn't?"

"Um…"

"He'd be needing more work than your pet car. Voldemort doesn't take well to betrayal. Not to mention…"

"What?"

"Hansen, you're underestimating people."

"Huh?"

"Do you think Dumbledore went and hired Potter and Snape? He couldn't make those two hardheads do what he wanted if he used up every last draught of magic in the castle. Potter's been chasing down trouble since he got here, and Snape—well, you've met him."

Saira involuntarily grinned. "Still, using an 11 year old boy?"

"Have you actually talked to Potter?"

"Not in any depth."

"That kid has been on his own personal mission ever since he found out Voldemort killed his parents. It's almost frightening to watch something consume a boy so much, but he seems to go about it responsibly…wait, on very brief reflection, I take that back. At any rate, he knows the risks involved. It's no good sheltering people."

"But how do you fight evil if you sink to its level?"

"Nothing is that binary. Evil wouldn't succeed if it didn't have 'good' things to offer some. And Good could never defend itself if it didn't fight hard and occasionally fight dirty. A battle is rarely a pretty affair, unless Saul's orchestrating it."

"How did I know you'd find a way to work him into the conversation?"

"Maybe you have some latent psychic powers. Perhaps you should have an afternoon tea with Sybil?"

Saira shuddered her response, and Sinistra cackled.

"Anyways, if you're so sick of hearing me talk about him, we should get you a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend?"

"Not unless Hooch is offering…"

"She's seeing some player from the Cannons this week."

"Yeah, she told me when we were repairing some of the school brooms. She had some joke about Snitch-hunting…"

"Sounds like Hooch."

"She credited you as the source…"

"Wouldn't know what you're talking about."

"I thought not." Saira smiled. She didn't exactly agree with Sinistra, but she still felt better airing her misgivings. And, she could see the streets of Hogsmeade approaching. The two changed their conversation to topics less likely to make the front page of Rita Skeeter's rag as they negotiated streets busy with witches and wizards.


	36. The Shrieking Shack

"What a giftless bastard!" -- Tchaikovsky on Brahms 1886

"Glamoury" comes from J.L. Matthews' fabulous _Slytherin Rising_ Series; I can't recommend it highly enough.

Thank you to those who have reviewed. You are lovely people!

* * *

Chapter 36: The Shrieking Shack 

"What in HELL is he DOING?"

Pansy Parkinson was not pleased. (Editor's note: the previous sentence has been nominated for the highly esteemed Understatement of the Year Award™.)

Neville rolled his eyes back and stuffed his wand into his pocket. The day was not going smoothly.

Their small group had been meeting regularly since they'd discovered Harry's regular trips to Gringott's, and they'd made some significant progress in their magical abilities over the past month. Working with brilliant Ravenclaws and an ambitious Slytherin meant that Neville found himself suddenly faced with the sort of intensive one on one training he rarely received from Hogwarts' busy faculty. It also meant that, when he performed a spell poorly, he had to face Pansy's wrath.

—It must be a Slytherin thing…— he mused, reflecting on the uncanny similarities between Ms. Parkinson and Professor Snape.

"WHY did you let him perform that incantation? Are you NUTS?" Pansy, receiving no quick answer from Neville, had swung about to question Kate.

Kate Cirrus either had incredible emotional control or she was self-prescribing Valium. At any rate, her voice remained even as she calmly discussed the previous spell with Pansy.

"I believe his technique is actually quite good—"

"GOOD! He nearly splinched us all into next week!"

"—it's merely his voice commands that require some practice."

"He can practice on YOU all he wants, but he's not getting that **thing**," here, Pansy made a pointed gesture to the wand sticking out of Neville's pocket, "NEAR me. He could KILL someone!"

"Down, girl!" Mandy had a grin on her face, possibly because she was on the verge of making a naughty joke about boys and their wands.

"Don't you patronize me…" Pansy shot a dark glare at the Ravenclaw, who met her eyes unafraid. The two of them stared at each other for a long few seconds…until they started giggling. Though Pansy would never admit it to anyone from her own house lest they take untoward advantage of the knowledge, she rather enjoyed it when people were brave enough to stand up to her. Perhaps because it happened so rarely. Also, she and Mandy had been working intently on developing the Ravenclaw's ability to transform into an Animagus, and Pansy was pleased with their progress. She was fond of successful alliances. Which meant that, at the moment, she was _not_ fond of Neville.

The boy sighed. "Look, Pansy. It's nearly break. Kate and I will be together for a lot of it since her mother has agreed to visit for Yule. I'll practice then, and I'll get it down. I promise." He stood up a little straighter and bit his lip, as though he was reworking the spell in his mind. Even two weeks ago, he might not have had the gumption to confront Pansy—he was learning a lot, these days.

Pansy arched her eyebrow, but kept her thoughts regarding the likely success of his endeavors to herself.

"You've got to admit it's a little tricky, trying to apparate as a group," Padma began diplomatically.

"But it's necessary." Pansy was curt.

"Agreed. But perhaps we could work with Kate's Guidance Charm more? I think having a distinct signal to follow makes performing the spell a bit easier."

"What, are we going to drop it off in Gringott's and hope it alerts us when the Boy Wonder and his friends start getting into trouble?"

"Sure, sounds great," Mandy matched Pansy's sarcasm. "But in the meantime, you have to admit that following a concerted path of magic as a lead makes it much simpler to keep a group of our size together. Not to mention, it circumvents the problem of ending up scattered in various places throughout Gringott's underground vaults, unable to contact each other."

Kate, in her free time, had discovered that binding a carefully crafted spell to an ordinary object could cause it to send out a magical homing signal. By seeking the energy current in the area one intended to apparate towards, it became possible to be much more specific and direct in the process. It also prevented unfortunate incidences of splinching between the two places, as the magic in the homing signal could be drawn on and used to guide the witch or wizard through the transition more certainly.

"I still don't see why we can't apparate to my vault," Pansy grumbled.

"It's not central enough," Kate began to explain, again. "If we don't end up near the middle, we minimize our chances of finding Harry once we get in."

"Which is why I think we need to find a way to use the homing signal," Padma pointed out.

"Why don't I give it to one of them to carry when we catch them slipping out together? Then we could end up exactly where they are," suggested Neville.

His idea was greeted with silence of the considering type.

"Do you think it's possible to ensure they don't suspect you're up to something? And that they'll carry it with them?" Kate looked hopeful.

"I'm sure I can convince them if you'd be willing to charm something smallish." Neville closed his eyes, working out a plan.

"Great," Pansy was decisive. "That means we can go directly to wherever they are, instead of relying on the 'follow the screams' method we were planning on using. I'm game. Padma, do you feel ready to do some damage?"

Padma Patil cracked her wrists and stretched. "I could be persuaded," she agreed. Easily the best dueler in the group, she'd spent many hours practicing with Professor Kentaro. This had earned knowing snickers from most of the upper class girls and a few of the less discrete professors. In truth, she had little interest in the man, aside from what he had to teach her about defensive magic. She was still seeing Fred Weasley, much to the surprise of people who didn't know her well. It was easy to look at the elegant, graceful young woman and miss the daredevil glint in her eye. Fred had his hands full, and from all accounts he was loving every minute of it.

"And no Glamours this time…" muttered Pansy, as she squared off against her opponent.

"Ah, ruin my fun?" Padma pouted.

"I still think it's shady to use them they way you do…"

"That's ripe, from a Slyth." Padma smiled sweetly at Pansy as the other girl muttered a string of profanity under her breath.

Neville backed out of their way. He had been relieved once he'd found out that Padma could throw an effective Glamour and that she'd taught Kate the rudimentary principles behind it. At least it partially explained why he was so easily convinced by his classmate and girlfriend. That was his story, and he intended to stick to it.

Kate touched her hand to his shoulder. "Want to head back? It's probably better if we don't return to the castle in a group."

He nodded his assent. As entertaining as it was to watch the dueling, it wasn't his strong point and he dreaded practicing with Pansy. Besides, the shack was small and neither of the girls cared much for protecting innocent bystanders when they got into the heat of a good match.

* * *

When they re-entered Hogwarts, there was a sort of generalized pandemonium that had nothing to do with the impending vacation. Students were moving quickly through the hallways in a state of bustling confusion. Most seemed headed to the library. 

"What's going on?" Kate asked one of her housemates, as she and Neville joined hands to avoid being separated in the stampede.

"There's been another attack. Pince is going to allow them to broadcast it from the library's Transducer."

"That thing still works?" The Transducer, a magically hybridized 1970s television, had been a gift from the Weasley family to Hogwarts many years ago. Black and white and slightly unpredictable, it was one of the few Muggle items in the library's History Collection. The fact that it was capable of pulling in the occasional football game made it popular among some of the students when Madame Pince wasn't paying close attention to the wing in which it sat. There were some rumours that indicated the librarian just happened to be fond of Muggle football.

Neville was concerned. "Why would we need to watch it on the Transducer? What can they show us that we couldn't just read in the press?"

"Don't know; but we're going to find out!" Kate's housemate pushed his way through the crowd, moving quickly.

"I don't like this…" Kate looked concerned, and Neville pulled her closer. All around them, students were chattering excitedly, predicting the news they'd hear. Everyone was certain it must be a particularly spectacular attack to warrant this sort of attention from the Headmaster.

The library was packed tight with young witches and wizards, as well as many of the faculty. Professor Sprout had some of the younger Hufflepuffs in her lap and was trying to comfort them. Professor Hansen was leaning against the circulation desk, looking as though she was about to be sick. Neville pressed towards her.

"Professor?"

"Hi, Neville."

"What's going on?"

"Can you see the screen?" Saira Hansen looked older than her students had seen her before.

Neville and Kate both turned in the direction she had gestured. From where they were, they couldn't hear what the news broadcaster was saying, but they could see images of burning buildings that seemed to be part of some sort of factory. Plumes of smoke formed a dark cloud in the sky.

"_Sonorus…_" Kate sent the spell, hoping to get more of an explanation.

The broadcaster's voice cut in near their ears:

—_agree it's absolutely shocking. The plant was shut down in '92 due to a leaking valve. Officials contend there were several intensive clean up efforts held at the plant, rendering it safe and inoperable. There is no indication as to how or why this reactor caught fire in what is quickly becoming the greatest catastrophe of the year._

Staff and students stared, dumfounded, at the footage of the nuclear power plant.

_Neighboring cities are being evacuated as quickly as possible, but officials estimate over 100,000 people may have been exposed to dangerous levels of radiation. Currently, the death toll is at 206 and rising._

"Kate, do you see that?" There was a high pitched edge to Neville's voice.

"Oh, gods…" The girl's face blanched.

Professor Hansen squinted her eyes at the smoke weaving in and out of focus over the burning building. There was a pattern there, and flashes of light. Her eyes widened as she recognized the sinister outline of a skull.

"It's the Dark Mark," a man's voice growled the explanation in her ear.

* * *

Saira sat in her office with a hand resting heavily on her head. Having Severus Snape explain the origin of the current Muggle Tragedy had been about as much as her nerves could take in one day. 

"That's it, Hooch, I don't think I'm cut out for this."

"How would it be any different if you were home?" The Quidditch instructor was almost painfully practical.

"I wouldn't know what was behind this. That Voldemort guy is really evil!"

"Thanks for the report, detective." Sinistra slouched in the chair on Saira's right. "It sucks, I agree. We've got do something." She looked determined.

"What now?" Hooch had a note of concern in her voice, as though she had an inkling of what might be on Sinistra's mind.

"I've talked to Saul. The biggest impediment to the Wizarding World at the moment is the Ministry of Magic. They keep dragging their feet and watching their backs. They're more interested in saving their skins than saving lives. Bunch of rotting cowards is what they are…" She paused, preparing a long string of virulence.

"Belt up, Sinistra. You too, Hansen," Hooch was the calmest of the three. "We can't just go wing-nuts on everyone. The students leave tomorrow and we'll have some time to work things out. Dumbledore is livid," she confided. "I haven't seen him this angry since he found out about the Longbottoms."

"What happened to the Longbottoms?" Saira had never asked Neville why he lived with his grandmother, preferring to respect the boy's privacy. Now, she couldn't resist her curiousity.

"They were driven insane by the Cruciatus Curse; they're both still living, but they don't recognize any of their old friends. Or their son…" Hooch was suddenly subdued; she had been good friends with Frank and Alice.

"It's amazing that they're even alive," Sinistra added. "But then, they were really powerful Aurors and escaped Voldemort more times than I can count."

"Is that why Neville's working on his homeopathy project with Sprout? I was told he's trying to find ways to treat the side effects of that curse." Saira felt her heart go out to the boy.

"It's going to take more than a few pieces of plant to undo all these years of damage," Sinistra was pragmatic. "Everyone has tried their best. Including Dumbledore. What did he say about this attack, Hooch?"

"He just stopped short of blaming it on the Ministry's Most Powerful Man."

"You mean Malfoy?" Sinistra was snide.

"The very one. Blimy git of a bastard, I'd like to—"

"Hooch!" Saira and Sinistra cut her off in unison.

"I still say the whole family is nothing but a devilish bunch of feckers."

"Point noted," Sinistra muttered.

"Even Draco?" asked Saira.

"Well, you let me know if you see any evidence to the contrary." Hooch sighed. "I'd love to be proven wrong."

"That man is asking for it, and I've got quite the gift planned," Sinistra had a very dark, very dangerous look on her face.

"I'm in," Saira volunteered. Hooch didn't look so sure.

"Good. Because I need you to convince a friend of mine to join up," Sinistra smiled at Saira in a way that suggested the witch had some dubious scheme planned.

"Who? And how?" Saira was interested. She wasn't sure that she could be much help in a magical world, but if Sinistra thought otherwise she might just be willing to try.

"A lovely man who has retained some very loyal contacts within the Ministry. Unfortunately, few of them are vocal about their support of him. Fortunately, they all owe him a significant favor following his willingness to resign from Hogwarts only a few years ago."

"Resign?"

"Yes, he saved them quite a scandal. And, while he could have pressed many of them for their open support, he resisted. He should be able to pull the strings we need."

"So what do you need me for?"

"I should have warned you, Hansen; never, **ever** volunteer for any plan of hers unless you know exactly what she has in mind. And then, get it in writing!" Hooch looked amused.

Saira's eyebrows went up. Sinistra continued, pausing only to make a quick face at Hooch.

"He doesn't like me much because I said some really ignorant things about him a few years ago. I'm sure you can't imagine me speaking out of turn…" Saira bit her lip, trying not to smile. "Well, I've learned a bit since then. But it's going to take some persuading to get him to join us. He feels like an outsider at Hogwarts, mostly because so few of us gave him support when he needed it. I'm willing to support him openly now; most of us are."

"And I'm supposed to convince him of this?"

"Well, in some ways, you're as much of an outsider as he is. At least at Hogwarts. And, he'll probably see that your perception of him has been shaped by us. We're going to do our best to explain him to you, and to send you off to a meeting unbiased and friendly."

"Uhhh…what has he done that would make me biased towards him?"

"It's nothing he's done. It's what has been done to him. And you, Professor Hansen, are needing of male companionship anyways. So what do you say?"

"Say to what?"

"You are going on a Yuletide date with a werewolf."


	37. Behind Door Number 2

Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote.  
-Benjamin Franklin

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed: you guys rock!

If you happen to catch typos or inacurracies, please email me/comment and I'll fix them. :-)

* * *

Chapter 37: Behind Door Number Two 

"Harry?"

"What, Ron?" The Boy Who Was Developing a Splitting Headache looked across the dorm room as his friend returned.

"Um…you okay?"

"I've had better days. You?"

"I don't know. This is crazy."

"How's Hermione?" It had been Ron's job to go and check on her.

"Sounds like she's stopped throwing things."

"Think it's safe to talk to her?"

"If you go first."

"Thanks, pal."

"Anytime."

The threesome had been in the library hours earlier, listening as frenetic Muggle commentary speculated on the cause of the fire at the retired nuclear reactor. Already, it was being heralded as one of the greatest catastrophes in the history of nuclear power. Surrounded by their housemates, they had stared blankly at the Transducer, their faces registering confusion and shock. Then they saw the telltale Dark Mark hovering in the smoke, causing Hermione to make a sudden hissing sound and she pulled in air between her clenched teeth. Harry had rubbed his forehead in reflex, half expecting his scar to burn, while Ron wrapped a protective arm around a trembling Ginny.

Their Headmaster acknowledged what they all feared: Death Eaters had planned the attack, using their Muggle contactors to infiltrate the building's security and paying them well for their services. Whoever masterminded the fire had been miles away when they sent the Mark to claim responsibility for the crime. By the time The Ministry had been able to get agents on the scene, all guilty parties had long since Apparated to safety. Once he briefed the students on the public information, Dumbledore had begun to stress the need for caution over their Winter Break. At this point, Hermione had stood up abruptly and left the room.

Hermione Granger was not one for histrionics. But then, she did not usually feel helpless in the face of certain danger to her family and way of life. Being a witch from a Muggle background gave her a vested interest in the outside world; one that she very much wanted to protect. She'd been so frustrated with her inability to do just that, she'd stormed ahead of her friends back to the Gryffindor halls, slamming her door shut behind her. That, coupled with a noise that sounded much like a pile of papers being thrown angrily across the room, had convinced the boys to give her a few minutes to calm down before they tried to comfort her.

Now, Harry and Ron stood in the hall outside her room once more, trying to work up the nerve to check on their friend. After a pointed look from Ron, Harry knocked on the door.

"Hermione? It's us. Are you okay?" The two boys stood in the hallway awkwardly, shifting on their feet.

A rustling sound came from the room, followed by the closing of a door. There was a pause and then Hermione's footfall was heard in approach. The door creaked open an inch and their friend's voice whispered:

"Is anyone else out there?"

"Er, no…" Harry stammered.

"Quick, then." Hermione opened her door and gestured her arm, guiding the two boys in as fast as she could.

"'Mione, what's going on?" Ron looked confused.

"Hold on a second," she muttered, closing the door and sealing it with an anti-Eavesdropping charm. Seemingly satisfied, she turned to her friends who were watching her with worried expressions.

"I'm okay," she tried to convince them. Her eyes were pink rimmed from crying and she had a slight shake in her hands. Crookshanks paced the floor by her mistress's feet, looking as concerned as a familiar with limited facial expressions can look. No one in the room was convinced by Hermione's protestation.

"Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked.

"We are doing it." Her voice was resolute. "We've got to hit Voldemort where he least expects an attack. He's used to fighting battles of magic, but he's never had to worry about his finances before. The weekend we get back, that's the one. I'm finally ready on my end." Hermione was sick of feeling helpless and had channeled her outrage over the current events into their plans.

"So what are you going to do about all his gold? We can't just carry it out of there. It's gonna weigh a ton!" Ron's voice got higher pitched as he spoke, his nervousness directly related to the small span of time between today and his inevitable tangle with the dark crypts of Gringotts.

"You'll see, Ron. It's going to work, I've put all my free time into learning how," Hermione began. "It's just that it would take too long to explain. I just got an owl telling me to be ready to leave in a few hours to return home; the Ministry is sending someone to Apparate me to wherever they're hiding my parents, and they're going to come earlier than planned because of this attack. I've got a lot of things to take care of before I leave." She looked as though there was something else she wanted to tell them.

"What about Nigel?" Harry was struck with a sudden thought.

"What about him? We're still dating, if that's what you mean." Hermione looked a little evasive, as though she was trying to find a way to broach a difficult subject.

"No, 'Mione, I mean—are you worried about him being attacked?" Despite their friend's many extensive monologues involving the relative merits of her boyfriend as opposed to any other member of the male guild, Harry and Ron had never heard her voice concern that he might be injured or worse. In fact, she hadn't talked about him much since her parents had been attacked.

"Well, he's a Muggle, with no magical family…he should be okay." She wasn't making eye contact, and her face had taken on a definite blush.

Ron stared at Hermione with his jaw wide open. "No way…" he murmured.

Harry shot Ron a glance. They appeared to be thinking the same thing.

"Hermione," Harry began: "Is there any reason we heard you closing your closet door before you let us in your room, though you've never worried about us seeing any mess before? Or why you pulled us in here so quickly? Or, for that matter, why we haven't seen much of you at mealtimes or in the Common Room since you found out your parents were attacked? And don't say it has to do with studying, because we all know your schedule for that by now." The two boys had spent the last few weeks wondering if they'd done something to hurt their friend's feelings, as she never seemed to have any free time for them. Though she claimed to be working on finalizing some spells for their upcoming attack, she'd brushed them off too quickly for them to fully believe her.

The girl looked between Harry and Ron, then sighed. "I'm never going to be good at this, am I?"

"Hiding things from us? Hopefully not," Ron looked suddenly cheerful, his mood much improved as they appeared to catch Hermione in a bit of a jam. "Shall I get the door for him?"

Hermione's eyes opened a little wider but she still managed a weak smile. "Sure, why not?"

Ron practically skipped across the room to Hermione's closet door and rapped smartly on the outside of it. "Oh, lover boy…"

"RONALD!"

"Er, Nigel? Come on out." Ron opened the door a bit and stood to the side.

"Hermione?" A young man voiced her name uncertainly from within the closet.

"It's okay, Nigel. We don't have much time, and it'll be easier if I can have their help to get you out of here."

"**Our** help? This can't be good," Ron started, but cut off as Harry sent him a well aimed glare.

The door opened and a lanky young man entered the room. He was taller than either of the boys, with messy light brown hair and mild grey eyes. Dressed in jeans and a dark t shirt, he didn't try to conceal his status as an outsider. Despite the strangeness of the situation, he didn't look as nervous as one might have predicted most Muggles might be in his situation. He seemed more curious than anything else.

"Um, nice to meet you." Ron automatically extended his hand.

"Er…hi. How are you?" Harry was next in line to make an oaf of himself, as Nigel introduced himself to both of them.

Hermione just smiled and shook her head at this strange meeting of her worlds. Dumbledore might have told her specifically that she couldn't bring her parents to Hogwarts, but he'd said nothing about her boyfriend. And, since she was legitimately worried about his well being, she'd asked Nigel to come and spend the last few weeks of the year with her and take her home for Christmas break. Since he was in between programming jobs, he'd agreed.

Getting him into the castle had been a trick in itself, since Hogwarts was specifically charmed against letting in Muggles. While Professor Hansen had been able to reach the castle since she was escorted by Snape and was able to come and go thanks to Dumbledore, most Muggles couldn't even see Hogwarts from the outside. To circumvent the shields, Hermione had needed to take Nigel through the one loophole in the system: the Whomping Willow. Once he was inside, he was able to see everything clearly, but if he left the castle and attempted to come back in using a different route, he wouldn't be able to find it. That hadn't been a problem as he'd been hiding in Hermione's room for the past few weeks, contenting himself with reading through her vast collection of magical books and keeping Crookshanks company.

She'd planned on taking him out through the secret passages tomorrow but the sudden change in plans had thrown her for a loop. In many ways, it was good that her friends had discovered what she was up to, because it freed up time for her to pack.

"When were you going to tell us?" Ron sounded reproachful.

"Ah…I don't know. Maybe after break. I just didn't want anyone to find out about him and then make him go home." Even to Hermione's ears, the excuse sounded weak.

"Can't you trust us?" Harry looked a little disappointed.

"Well, yes. Yes. You're right. I should have told you." Hermione didn't often admit she was wrong. Possibly because she wasn't often wrong.

Nigel spoke up: "I know she wanted to, we talked about it a few times. Mostly she never had the right moment, because you all were in a group of people. And she didn't want others to think she was up to something, so she tried to act as normally as possible." He looked very earnest; it was obvious how much he cared about Hermione.

"Hmm." Ron nodded, still more amused by the situation than at all ruffled by Hermione's deception. "It's okay, 'Mione, I'm not really mad. Just find a way to tell us these things in the future. And in the meantime, tell me how you did it. Because if I start dating a cute Muggle, you can bet a galleon I'm going to want to smuggle her in here…."

"Ron, honestly!" Hermione shook her head. Harry chuckled and gave Hermione a wink, showing her she was forgiven.

"Well, now that the three of you are finally together, why don't you get acquainted while I pack up my things? And then maybe we can talk about smuggling Nigel out of here safely?" Hermione looked hopeful.

The three guys hit it off so splendidly, Hermione began to regret ever bringing Nigel to Hogwarts.


	38. The Malfoy Heir

I have always loved truth so passionately that I have often resorted to lying as a way of introducing it into the minds which were ignorant of its charms.

**-**Giacomo Casanova

* * *

Chapter 38: The Malfoy Heir 

Draco Malfoy was having a passably good afternoon. The idiots shown on the Transducer were frightened and distressed, the Dark Mark was on the rise, and he was getting to watch that insufferable Muggle professor look as though she might lose her lunch on the circulation desk. Yes, all in all it was a splendid day.

He turned he eyes towards Snape, who was scanning the room with an assessing dark glare. Draco felt his stomach drop. To say he was attracted to the Potions Professor wouldn't be entirely accurate. He wanted to **be** the man quite nearly as much as he wanted him. It was the sort of idolizing crush one might have thought a 16 year old should have been beyond having, and yet—there he was, having it.

To understand Draco, one must examine the roles power and the pursuit of it have played it in his life. Starting with his father, who married his beautiful ice princess of a mother as much for her fortune as her bloodline. Haughty and elegant, Narcissa had surprised even herself when she discovered she actually _enjoyed_ parenting, and she put every effort into making certain Draco was spared no opportunity. His father humored and provided for her, but viewed their relationship more as a business contact than a marriage. All of her finery and stature was in exchange for her superlative services in providing Lucius with an adequate heir.

Not that Lucius ever left Draco feeling adequate. Even now, Draco had the residual stirrings of unease, knowing he would have to return home for break soon and face the man he despised. His father would want him to swear the Intention Oath to Voldemort, proving his loyalty and increasing the stature of all Malfoys within the Death Eater circle. Draco was still looking for a way out.

It wasn't that he disapproved of Voldemort. No, he rather thought the Dark Lord had a point and an excellent way of making it. But why should he, Draco Malfoy, snivel and kiss someone else's ring? Why should he enter servitude? And, finally, why should he commit himself to a cause that was almost certainly going to cinch an early death for himself? —Far better to allow the coming War to take place, and stand aside. And then, when the victorious side is evident, I can join its ranks near the end. Little loss to fortune, life, or stature with that plan.—

—Maybe Pansy has an idea…— he mused, resolving to discuss the issue with her during their next date. Ms. Parkinson was easily his closest friend in Slytherin house, due in equal parts to her intelligence, wealth, and ability to provide his mother with accounts of a romantic entanglement that earned obvious approval. He doubted Narcissa would be overly delighted to hear he swung both ways, so to speak. Allowing Pansy to toy about with other young men seemed an inconsequential part of their deal, as he allowed himself the same liberties--discretely, of course.

Draco watched Snape, who loomed dark and menacing in the corner of the library, his inky black robes falling in a puddle at his feet. –Now _that's_ power— he thought, admiringly. The man exuded a threatening presence that warned others away from him. When the Dark Mark had first flashed across the screen of the Transducer, several people in the library, both staff and students, had inadvertently looked in his direction. He remained coldly impassive.

Draco watched as Snape glanced in the direction of the low conversation taking place between Neville Longbottom, Kate Cirrus, and Professor Hansen. –Worthless bunch— Draco dismissed. Snape seemed to concur, as he turned his head away from the small group with a barely perceptible sneer. Then, appearing to change his mind, he stalked over to the circulation desk.

—Oh, today just gets better and better!— Draco looked forward to watching Snape unleash some of his trademark scorn on the unwitting three, who only now were aware of the Dark Mark on the screen.

Snape leaned next to Hansen and hissed something in her ear. Draco watched as she whirled towards him, and was pleased to see how suspicious the Muggle instructor looked. Whatever Snape was saying came in tones too low for him to pick up (which left him wishing his Extendable Ears hadn't been confiscated by Hooch), but he was pleased to see that the woman looked absolutely devastated by the one sided conversation. Snape kept the interaction brief and stalked away, his eyes meeting Draco's for a quick second before the Professor left the room. Draco couldn't completely decipher the message in them, but he felt as though he was seeing some sort of a warning.

Suddenly, he wished he could talk to Snape about his father. He thought the other man might be one of the few with the power to stand up to Lucius.


	39. That Time of the Month

"One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman."

-Simone de Beauvoir

Or a Muggle. Or a werewolf. Extra points if you're into gender studies.

* * *

Chapter 39: That Time of the Month

"You want me to WHAT?" Saira looked bewildered.

Hooch let out a definite snort and covered her face with her hands. From the shake in her shoulders, Saira rather suspected the other woman was trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a serious case of the giggles.

"His name is Remus Lupin," Sinistra spoke firmly.

"And he's really a, er, ahhhh…." Saira's mind wasn't allowing her to accept this new bit of information.

"Yes, he really is," Sinistra assured her. Somehow, it wasn't really that assuring…

"But won't people notice? I mean, if he shows up all hairy and fanged."

Hooch jumped back into the conversation. "No, it's not like that. Honestly, Sinistra, one might think you _enjoyed_ tormenting people." Hooch gave the other witch a stern expression, one that was usually reserved for members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. The Astronomy professor smiled broadly, not bothering to deny the accusation.

Hooch continued. "Most of the time, Remus looks like a perfectly ordinary man. It's only once a month, when the full moon is out, that he transforms."

"Once a month? Geez, sounds like serious PMS to me…what happens if we cycle together? I don't know that I'd want to go on a date with a werewolf. I mean, I might be able to be friends with one, and it'd be okay if someone I knew were to date one…it just sounds so risky." Saira was not convinced.

"Same things could be said about Muggles, couldn't they?" There was a sharp note in Sinistra's voice.

"Easy there," Hooch interrupted, "she sounds an awful lot like you did, just last year." At this accusation, Sinistra went quiet. She appeared to be considering something as Hooch directed her words towards Saira.

"Remus went to school here—was a prefect, even—and came back and taught pretty recently. But there's a lot of prejudice against werewolves because their condition is both dangerous and contagious. Remus himself was bitten when he was only a boy."

Saira, too, was thinking. –Oh geez, I guess I did sound awful harsh. But I don't want to get bitten and turn into a werewolf! It's nowhere near the full moon, though…and maybe we could go on a date during the day? Honestly, a date would be nice. I am seriously backed up.— And so, thinking as much with the big brain as the little brain, Saira spoke:

"You know, you're right. I sound like a complete lout. It's just hard to imagine going out with someone I've been told doesn't really exist. And my only reference point comes from a lot of poorly made films on the subject."

Hooch rolled her eyes, her opinion on Muggle cinema made clear.

"Come off it, Hansen. How many times have you been told witches and wizards don't really exist?" Sinistra had a twinkle in her eye again.

"Oh, I know. And you say you need to have this…man's help?" Saira had quickly decided that calling Remus "the werewolf" wasn't the appropriate way to go about the conversation.

"It's true," Sinistra explained again, "I really think he can give us the extra leverage we need in The Ministry. If we can just get a few key players out of commission there, things will be much easier for our side. Mostly, Albus will have less work to do, since he won't have to constantly supervise a notoriously select few."

"Can't imagine who you mean by that…" Saira muttered, the face of Lucius Malfoy leaping into her mind.

"So you'll do it?" Hooch looked curious.

"Well, yes…but, Sinistra?"

"Hmm?" The witch looked immensely pleased at how smoothly this was going.

"How am I going to meet up with him for a date? I mean, he doesn't know me from Adam."

"Oh, that. Right." Sinistra seemed to suddenly find something immensely fascinating on the ceiling above Saira's left ear, and her eyes locked to study it more closely.

"Sinistra." Hooch was already shaking her head.

"It's quite simple, really. I mean, well, Remus is a single man," Sinistra appeared to be stalling for time.

"And?" Saira's voice rose just a little.

"Well, single men look for single women, right?"

Neither Hooch nor Hansen had any response for this.

"So I used the Wizarding Personals to set up this date," Sinistra spoke quickly and waved her hands dismissively.

"You what? You answered his personal ad pretending to be me? What if I'd said I wouldn't go on the date?" Saira was annoyed she hadn't been consulted first.

"Ahhhh..." Sinistra's voice dropped off a bit as Hooch concentrated the full penetrating effect of her hawkish golden eyes on the woman.

"That not it, not exactly," Sinistra admitted.

"Not exactly?" Saira felt the smatterings of realization beginning to emerge as her brain attempted to piece together the real solution.

"Well, it's close enough," the Astronomy professor began to protest once more, but the looks coming from her audience suggested strongly that she might as well spit it out.

"Okay, I took out a personal ad for you. And wrote it in such a way as to interest him, and he responded—along with 30 or so other applicants, would you imagine that? You'd be quite the popular lady on the dating scene, Hansen—" the words came out lightly, as if they were totally inconsequential.

"You did **what**?" Saira took a quick step towards the witch, who yelped and ducked behind Hooch as she reached for her wand in self defense. "Why, you little…" But, before her initial violent tendencies were realized, she found herself dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"You don't mind?" Sinistra's voice was muffled slightly by Hooch's shoulder, though the Quidditch coach was doing her best to shake off her friend.

"Mind?" Saira was still laughing. "Well, I don't really have that choice, hmm? Damn it, Sinistra…you are such a wench."

Sinistra stood up proudly, looking relieved she'd gotten off the hook so easily. "You're too kind," she purred.

* * *

Sitting in a rather dark bar in Diagon Alley, Saira found time to wonder how Sinistra had so easily convinced her it was a good idea to meet up with a complete stranger. –That woman is dangerous— she decided, resolving to find a way to get her friend back for this as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Now, though, she had to play out this interesting scene. She'd picked up a set of robes a few weeks ago when Sinistra had taken her shopping. She'd resisted the purchase, believing she shouldn't try to look as though she was anything but herself—a Muggle. Sinistra had argued for their acquisition, claiming that one never knew when one might need a good working disguise. Now Saira wondered how long the other woman had been planning this little escapade.

The bar, named The Leaky Cauldron, was moderately full of a steady bunch of witches, wizards, and some creatures Saira wasn't able to easily define. With the robes on, no one paid her much attention, though she got the occasional interested glance from a passerby or two by virtue of being a lone woman. Lupin was running ten minutes late.

–I wonder if he'll stand me up?— Saira had experienced that particular joy a few times, though she'd never done it to anyone else. She'd rather not accept a date if she wasn't going to take it, and she hoped Lupin would have a similar philosophy on the matter.

The door to the bar screeched open and yet another man wearing long robes stepped inside. He was tall, with light brown hair and a clean shaven face. Saira looked up at him inquisitively. –Is this him?—

He glanced at her, looking both curious and hopeful, which caused Saira to break out a wide smile. It was nice to see that he, too, appeared a little nervous. He walked over to her table.

"Saira Hansen?"

"Remus Lupin?"

"It's true," he acknowledged, smiling kindly as he slid into the chair across from her.

"I was wondering if you would decide to come or not," Saira admitted.

"I, er. Yes. I'm sorry for being late. I'm usually much more punctual, though I suspect you have no reason to believe me on that front," he looked genuinely apologetic, and just a tad bit relieved.

–I wonder if he thought I was going to stand him up, and that's why he came a bit late? Maybe.— Now that he was seated, Saira had the chance to better examine the man. He was younger than she'd expected him to be, or maybe he had just aged well. His face was boyish with large hazel eyes and fair skin. His hair was mixed generously with strands of gray, though it had not yet begun to thin. He looked tired, with dark circles underneath his relatively unlined eyes, but he seemed to be in a good humour.

"No worries," Saira suddenly noticed that the man appeared to be studying her closely. "Is something the matter?" she asked, as his eyebrows went up slightly.

"Oh, I—no. No, nothing is the matter. I apologize for seeming a bit scattered. I didn't realize you were a Muggle, that's all."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Saira felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Though her grandfather had told her that he'd occasionally run into racism as a young Arabic boy, she herself had never personally experienced any sorts of prejudice before arriving at Hogwarts. Being non-magical constantly made her feel as though she should expect some sort of rejection from others.

"Not at all," Lupin's voice was level and sincere. "It explains your personal ad, though."

—Shite. Why didn't I ask Sinistra what she'd put in that? For all I know, she said I'm some sort of wealthy heiress looking for a cabana boy.—

"Oh?" Saira asked as calmly as she could manage.

"Well, just why you'd want someone who was open minded to all sorts of different cultures and lifestyles, that's all," he looked pleased with this. "How did you end up in Diagon Alley?"

"Oh, I've been working at Hogwarts this past school year. Dumbledore hired me to teach the students about Muggles because he thought the current situation warranted a more expanded curriculum."

"So you know what's been going on lately?" He seemed a little surprised.

"Just the general news; I rather suspect a bit more is actually going on, underneath," she gave her honest opinion, hoping Sinistra and Hooch were right in their estimation of the man.

He appeared to be considering her words carefully.

"I used to work at Hogwarts, as well," he began. "Lately I've been doing some work for friends of Dumbledore's, and I do remember hearing about there being a new Muggle professor. Good for you; it's going to be very useful for the students to have the sort of exposure I'm sure you're giving them."

"Well, thank you. I'm sure you can imagine that not everyone thinks that."

"Not everyone was pleased when I taught there, either," he admitted.

"How so?" Though Saira already knew the reason, she figured that Lupin should have the opportunity to tell her himself.

He seemed resigned to the inevitable conversation. For a second, Saira regretted asking the question, since it was likely a touchy spot for him.

"I have a medical condition that made some people concerned I might not be able to handle the demands of teaching," he replied.

—What did I expect him to say? He barely knows me!—

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Are you feeling well these days?"

"Very, thank you."

"Would you like to go for a walk?" More people were streaming into the bar, and Saira felt as though the noise level was rising too high for the two of them to talk much.

"Gladly! I'm not much for the bars, not really."

The two of them slipped out into the winter day and began to amble down Diagon Alley. Saira found Remus Lupin to be an absolutely charming man, if a little shy at first. The two of them lobbied through many of the typical first date questions about family and schooling, but found themselves drifting back to the issue of Voldemort and the attacks on the Muggles.

"And so, Dumbledore thinks that my brother was killed because of the situation," Saira's voice still got a little softer when she spoke of Rafi.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lupin's concern was sincere, and he rested a hand on her elbow. Saira took the opportunity to link arms with him as they strolled past the storefront of the Magical Menagerie.

A smile tugged at the corner of the man's mouth before he began to speak again. "And Dumbledore is still working hard at coordinating the Muggle Defense Effort?"

"It's true. Though there are a few people in The Ministry who would like to see it fail, Lucius Malfoy for one."

"You've met him?"

"Several times, unfortunately," Saira didn't know how to be anything but frank in her dislike of that man. "Sinistra is working on trying to get members of The Ministry to reconsider his appointment as Chair of the Committee for Muggle Protection."

"Are you friends with Sinistra?" His question seemed a bit guarded, and Saira remembered that the witch had admitted she hadn't always been friendly to Lupin.

"It's true, though she has a wicked tendency to prank me. I'm currently brainstorming some sort of retribution."

"A pity she doesn't like spiders," Lupin observed.

Saira felt a slow smile cross her face. "Indeed," she agreed.

This date was turning out to be more fun than she'd anticipated.

* * *

She arrived back at Hogwarts late that evening, her head still swimming from the events of the day. The path back to the castle was dark, as the night was cloudy, but she knew her way well enough to avoid getting lost. Saira readjusted the packages under her arm and shivered slightly. Though it hadn't yet snowed, the air was cold and crisp in anticipation. With most of the students gone for the holiday break, the castle seemed emptier. Fewer candles burned in the windows, and nothing in the way of conversation drifted through the night air. Normally, shrieks and giggles could be heard at all hours, from both the boys and girls dorms.

Saira had once heard a sound she'd taken to be a fire alarm as she'd returned from Hagrid's one evening. When she reached the castle and asked Nearly Headless Nick about it, he'd guffawed loudly.

"Just the normal wail of a klaxon catching a foolhardy boy," he'd explained.

"Say that again?" Saira hadn't understood.

Fortunately, he hadn't taken her literally. "One of the Hufflepuff boys tried to fly his broom up the staircase to the girl's dormitory, thinking he'd get around the security system that way. Well, he beat the staircase turning into a slide, but he didn't count on the other security measures."

Saira had laughed. "So there's no way for boys to get to the girl's rooms?"

It was Nick's turn to laugh. "Well, the boys in the other three houses seem to have figured out ways around it, let's just leave it at that."

Saira smiled to herself tonight, hoping the stairs near her room didn't have similar enchantments set over them. In just a few days, Remus Lupin would be joining her for dinner.


	40. Things That Go Bump in the Night

Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.

-George Burns

* * *

Chapter 40: Things That Go Bump in the Night 

Saira settled into her place at the Head Table, glancing around the room to see which students had come down for breakfast. Only a handful had stayed for this vacation, as many families, both wizarding and Muggle, felt the need to have their loved ones together while it was still possible.

—It's an eerie sort of calm…like we're all just waiting for Voldemort to make the next move. Why don't they go after him directly?— Saira frowned into her coffee, idly pulling a spoon through the dark liquid. Though she liked it black, the spoon was necessary to make it cool faster.

Snape didn't appear to require such luxuries, as drank his steaming mug in half the time it took Saira, spoon and all.

–How is it possible to do that without having your mouth burned off? What a strange man.—

Dumbledore tipped his hat to them both as he came in, earning a smile from Saira and a brief nod from Snape. Saira watched the Headmaster as he sat next to Professor McGonagall and began to speak to her in low tones.

–I'd love to be a fly on the wall in his office. Even though Fawkes might be happy to eat me.—

Sprout came bustling in cheerfully, breaking through the stillness in the air.

"Good morning, my dear! How are you today?"

"Pretty well, and you?"

"Lovely, lovely. You should come see my mandrakes; they're getting big so fast!" Sprout looked very pleased with herself, and Saira returned her smile. Sprout continued, "And I hear you've been out on a date with a young wizard…"

"Remind me to flog Sinistra later today. Or should I blame Hooch?" Saira was amazed by the speed at which gossip traveled, rivaling even that of light.

"It was Sinistra, of course," Sprout admitted. "But you're not likely to find her today, as she's already up in the Astronomy tower cleaning out her telescopes."

"Ah, yes. Finally. She's been complaining about not having time to do that all semester," Saira replied, an involuntary twinkle landing in her eye.

As if on cue, Sinistra slammed open the door to the Great Hall.

Everyone in the room turned and stared at the woman, who ran towards the Head Table with her face as white as that of a ghost.

"ALBUS!"

The Headmaster leapt to his feet, concern evident on his face. McGonagall followed suit, the two of them rushing to meet Sinistra in the middle of the hall. Every pair of eyes in the room was locked to the scene.

"What is it?" Dumbledore reached an arm out to comfort the woman.

"They're EVERYWHERE! Three or four, or possibly even FIVE of them! Get them out!"

"Death Eaters? Here, at Hogwarts?" gasped McGonagall.

"No, worse!" Sinistra was screeching her words, her shoulders trembling.

Saira did her best to keep her face mask-like, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she cracked through the façade. Thinking quickly, she mashed two of her fingers into her hot coffee. –Ow!—

The pain from the liquid distracted just enough of her mind to keep her from breaking out into incriminating laughter, and she discretely wiped her hand dry on her pant leg. –At least everyone is watching Sinistra.— The thought had scarcely flittered across her mind when she realized Severus Snape was looking at her, his usual bored expression on his face.

"Clumsy today, Hansen," he muttered.

"Indeed," she met his eyes as casually as she could manage and turned back to watch Sinistra, who was still shrieking.

"My dear, what's going on?" Dumbledore kept his voice level.

"GIANT TARANTULAS! In MY TELESCOPES!" The witch howled the words, conveying the indignity and severity of the situation as best she knew how.

"I am a PROFESSIONAL! I refuse to do this sort of janitorial work! There are LIMITS to the sort of things a person should be exposed to, Dumbledore! I don't care who does it, or how, but I want that tower swept free of every eight legged creature in it by this afternoon. The gods help them if they so much as scratch one of my 'scopes! And when I found out how a passel of those HEINOUS creatures ended up in my classroom, whichever student was foolish enough to leave them behind will be fed to an Acromantula!" Sinistra's face was bright red.

Despite the dire nature of the threat, of perhaps because of it, a sound very much like a snicker came from the general direction of the Slytherin table.

Sinistra whirled towards the noise. To her back, an actual hoot came from a young Gryffindor.

Sinstra threw her hands up in disgust.

"There, there, my dear," Dumbledore's voice was solemn, "We will make every effort to resolve this situation. I'm sorry to hear you've had such a distressing morning. Perhaps, though, you could enlist your newest charges in some useful behavior? Such as spinning webmaps of constellations?"

–Oh dear, she's not going to find that funny!— Saira felt a smile finally breaking through, but it didn't look terribly suspicious as everyone around her was outright giggling. Except Snape, of course, who had already returned his attention to the book in front of him.

"Albus!" Sinistra appeared to be on the verge of letting fly one of her trademark torrents of sewage she passed off as vernacular.

"Darling! Are you alright? I came as soon as heard there was a problem!" Professor Kentaro was a welcome diversion as he swept through the door Sinistra had left open.

"Saul? Good. I have a job for you…" Sinistra's face was grim as she stormed out of the room, her unwitting paramour firmly in tow.

Saira finally gave in, busting loose the good humor she'd tried so hard to restrain. All around her, others appeared to be similarly enjoying the levity of the moment.

"Oh dear," Sprout was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, a smile still on her face. "Perhaps the pet Lee Jordan had some years ago has blessed us with some babies. Such a shame they ended up in the Astronomy tower."

"Quite, that," Saira responded, trying to get herself back under control.

"What were we saying a minute ago?" Sprout tried to refocus her mind. "Oh yes, your date. Who is he, and he handsome? And kind? And when do I get to meet him?" The woman looked delighted.

Saira looked at Sprout, considering. While she didn't much want to talk about her personal life over breakfast, she could understand why this sort of conversation would appeal to her. With all the deaths and uncertainty colouring the course of the year, talking about something cheerful and mundane was likely to be therapeutic.

Saira nodded to herself. "You have met him, actually. He used to teach here. Remus Lupin is his name, and I think he's quite lovely. In fact, he's coming to dinner tomorrow night." Saira began to tell Sprout about their date, oblivious to Snape, who left the hall with a dark scowl on his face.

* * *

"Do you _want_ to be a matchstick?" Saira hissed at the retreating staircase, which seemed to be swinging away from her with a bit more alacrity than usual. "Blast you and the rotted acorn that spawned your worthless splintery frame!" She wasn't entirely sure the staircases were sentient enough to appreciate the tirade, but it helped blow off steam. 

Saira was heading to the main entranceway of the castle, where she was to meet Remus Lupin in 20 minutes. She'd learned to leave her room ahead of schedule to deal with unexpected inconveniences such as these, but that didn't mean she enjoyed them. Gritting her teeth and backing up to gain momentum, she made a running leap towards an approaching staircase.

"Bloody hell!" Hanging on to a banister for dear life, she felt herself swinging through the air in one of her less dignified moments. By the time she reached her destination, she felt as though she'd put in a rousing workout at the gym. She was still cussing under her breath as she rounded a corner and found herself in the smoldering company of Severus Snape.

"Such language," he looked disgusted.

"I'd have used far worse, had I known you were so easily offended."

"No more than I should expect from one of your tastes."

"Don't you have a dungeon to crawl back into?" Saira and Snape had avoided their sparring matches for the past few weeks, but today seemed less likely to be so blessed.

"You shouldn't be that quick to dismiss the dungeon…it's the very place your beastly paramour belongs. Or hasn't he told you? No, of course he hasn't." The man's voice came out in a near hiss.

Saira continued walk down the hallway, hoping to avoid this particular encounter. Unfortunately, Snape wasn't done speaking.

"Perhaps you two lovebirds might find you enjoy moonlit strolls?" His face twisted into something that resembled a smile insofar as the corners of his mouth curled upward.

"If you're trying to get me to bite, you'd have better luck if you held out your arm," Saira shot back.

"Perhaps you don't understand," he took the tone one might use when speaking to a very small child.

"Perhaps the same could be said for you," Saira walked faster.

"Only by one as foolish as yourself," he matched her pace.

"Don't you have something better to do? Like wash your hair?"

His tone hardened as they rounded the corner abutting the entranceway. "Hansen, it matters little to me if you want to put _yourself_ in danger. However, your actions risk the wellbeing of my students. That man you're seeing is a werewolf. Do you understand what that _means_?"

"Well, Severus," Saira stopped and rested a hand on her hip, her voice rising in annoyance, "I suspect that means he turns into a beast with no manners about once a month. As opposed to you, who remains a beast with no manners every day of the year. Are you quite finished?"

"Have you no sense, woman?" Snape sneered and turned on his heel, his robes billowing out behind him. Apparently he didn't need an answer.

"What a lout…" Saira spoke to the empty air. But someone answered.

"Saira?" It was Remus Lupin.

"Remus? You're early!"

"Well, I wanted to make up for being late, last time. I didn't mean to hear…" his voice trailed off and he looked away. Saira looked at the man who was still shivering a bit from his travel in too-thin robes. Apparently, he'd been waiting in the foyer attempting to thaw as she and Severus had approached.

"It's good to see you," she said frankly, and reached to give him a welcoming hug.

"Saira. Wait. What he just said—" he held her back a little.

She shook her head. "What he just said matters to me about as much as the ingredients in one of his potions—that is, not at all. Though he seems to find it strangely fascinating," she shook her head.

"He's not just saying it to spite you, though. I really am a werewolf," the man winced a bit as he said the words.

"I…I know." She thought honesty was the best route here.

"You know?"

"Well, I talked to people who knew you here, and it came up."

"Did you know when we first met?" He looked incredulous.

"Yes." She waited, not certain how he'd take the news.

"And you still came. Why?"

"Well, why not? No, wait. Honestly, I was a little nervous when I first heard. But you're really nice, and I like your company. Everyone's got something, right?" she smiled.

"I…suppose." He looked a little puzzled, but not altogether unhappy by the news.

"Are you still up for dinner?" Saira had planned to cook him a meal at Hagrid's hut, as her friend was away visiting the lady Olympe at the moment.

"Very much so."


	41. First Christmas at Hogwarts

There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.

-Erma Bombeck

* * *

Chapter 41: First Christmas at Hogwarts 

"Happy Christmas!"

"Oooof…." Saira rolled over and stretched, it being too early for her to feel particularly happy.

She lifted a groggy head, opening her eyes into those of the man next to her.

—Hey, he stayed…—

Last night's dinner had stretched into early morning conversation, as Saira had invited Remus to her room for an evening cocoa. The two of them hit it off famously, trading stories of friends they'd known and places they'd seen, with the topic of werewolves not finding its way into conversation much.

* * *

"Oh, your hair's soft!" Saira was surprised as she cuddled up to the man on her small couch. He smiled between the tousled strands. 

"Do you ever wear yours down?"

"No, not usually. It gets knotted up too easily." As always, Saira had it pulled back in a long braid.

"What does it look like down?"

Saira smiled, pulling at the ends of her hair. "Something like this, only usually not so wavy…"

Her hair fell nearly to her waist in a heavy curtain. Down for only a second, it seemed to be already ending towards something suspiciously ratty.

"See?" she laughed, woefully. "It's completely unmanageable, but I've had it long ever since I was a girl. I'm just too lazy to change."

"It's quite nice, actually. Have you a brush?" He scanned the room.

"Sure, on the dressing table."

"Well," he stood up, retrieving the item, "may I?"

Saira sat on the floor in front of the couch and closed her eyes. It felt simply heavenly to have someone playing with her hair. Lupin's hands were gentle, carefully working through the knots and twists.

"Mmm…a girl could get used to this." —Two a.m. sessions with your own personal stylist: nice.—

"Ah, you meant what you wrote in your ad, right? About not looking for a long term relationship?" His words were quiet.

She felt herself getting sleepy. "Mmm, yes. That." The brush pulled through her hair again. "Remus, would you stay the night? I'm not necessarily propositioning you, though you wouldn't have to work to convince me. But it'd be nice just to have a warm body next to me. No pressure."

He chuckled behind her. "I'd be a total fool to say no to that sort of an offer."

* * *

And now? 

Now he was lying next to her in a warm, cozy bed, wearing only an undershirt and boxers. –Okay, I guess you _can_ call this a Happy Christmas.—

She rolled over, cuddling into him and landing a kiss on his cheek. "Surely you're not suggesting we get up this early?"

"Well, how else are you going to check on your presents?"

"My presents?"

"Yes…though I'm not sure where they'll be hidden, as someone seems to have neglected to acquire a tree…" He looked at her reproachfully, eyes twinkling.

"Ahhh…I just didn't see the need this year." Saira had made small presents for some of her friends within Hogwarts and scheduled their delivery with the owls. Other than that, she hadn't wanted to pay too much attention to the holiday. It was her first Christmas without her brother. –Will I ever be able to think about him without feeling sad?—

"Are you okay? I didn't mean anything by that." Remus, who had been watching her face, looked concerned.

Saira smiled. "I'm fine. I just didn't get you anything, that's all."

He laughed. "Give me a kiss and I'll call it even." She obliged.

The two of them made it out of bed somehow. To Saira's surprise, there was in fact a small pile of gifts in front of her door.

"Just like Santa!" Her eyes twinkled. "And Remus, if you know any stories about Santa actually being a wizard, or for that matter having anything to do with the wizarding world, please don't tell me. There's something appealing in the pure make-believe."

Lupin closed his mouth and grinned. "Very well…you may open your gifts in peace."

She pulled on an old jumper and sat, cross legged, on the floor by the small pile.

The first gift she opened was from Sprout—it was a baby Puffapod, the very plant she'd admired when she first came to Hogwarts. It had only the beginnings of a single pink seedpod starting.

"Those are the ones with the huge blossoms?" Lupin remembered.

"The very same. She's such a sweet woman."

Dumbledore had sent her a small package of assorted candies, and Sinistra and Hooch had joined forces to get her a lovely pair of dark brown gloves.

"Dragon hide," Remus explained, gesturing to the gloves. "Will keep you warm, and double to take food out of the oven in a pinch."

"Amazing…" she looked at pair more closely, impressed. Sinistra had wrapped them in an old issue of the Daily Prophet, and Saira noticed that the Personals section was included. She suspected she'd have some interesting reading to do later.

Her students hadn't forgotten her. She received some assorted cards and candies that made her smile. Ron had gotten her a credit to his brothers' infamous shop, which promised some interesting opportunities, and a charming little toad figurine came from Neville. Saira laughed as it hopped lazily across her floor.

"Quite the popular lady," observed Remus.

"I like teaching. I didn't think I'd be that good at it, but it's hard not to like the students. Hogwarts has some good ones."

Two gifts remained where a moment ago there'd been only one. She looked up inquisitively.

"It's not much," he explained, gesturing dismissively with his hands.

Curious, she picked up the thin envelope. –Is it a card?— She opened it and found a photograph. It was of Rafi.

"How?" She gazed at her brother, who was shown laughing with a group of wizards in what seemed to be a sort of pub.

"It was taken at The Three Broomsticks, where he used to go and listen to music. I took that picture because he was sitting with some friends of mine, and it was stashed away with a bunch of other shots from that night. A rather good Wizarding band was playing, and all of the Hogwarts music lovers had snuck out to hear them."

"So you didn't know him?"

"No, I was too far ahead of him in school, though I could put a face to the name when you told me about him. I stayed in the area for a bit after graduation, working for Dumbledore and seeing shows when I had the chance. You mentioned he had a similar taste in music, so I went through my pictures from that time period."

"This is great; this is so much more like how I remember him." The picture Dumbledore had given her of the bored looking scholar didn't seem as familiar. She smiled, the moment bittersweet. "Thank you, this is the best present." She took the opportunity to kiss him again.

"Don't speak so soon; you have one more."

"Oh, right…" Saira took another look at the photograph before sliding it gently back into the envelope. –I'll have to get a frame for it.—

She lifted the wooden box into her lap, surprised by the heft of it. "What's in this, a lump of coal? Or lead? It's heavy!"

"Maybe Hagrid sent you a pet?" Lupin suggested with a smile.

"No, the box would have holes in it…and it'd probably be moving. Besides, he sent the chocolate frogs."

Feeling slightly wary, Saira pulled on the lid. It resisted her efforts for a second. Then, the entire box shimmered and the cover came off easily.

"I guess it wanted to make sure you were the only one to open it. That was a Security Spell," Lupin explained.

"Huh…" Saira's brow furrowed, and she lifted out a thick leather sack from inside. Its contents clinked together. After untying the cords that bound it together, she found herself staring, open mouthed, at a pile of gold coins.

"What is this?" She felt nervous, as though she'd discovered someone else's treasure chest.

"There's a note…" Lupin pointed to a slip of parchment that had rested underneath the bag.

_Ms. Saira Hansen,_

_Please find enclosed the account contents once belonging to one Mr. Rafi Hansen. As you are listed on his account as next of kin, we have taken the liberty of transferring the assets to you. Please find enclosed: 532 Galleons, 23 Sickles and 9 Knuts._

_We look forward to doing business with you in the future,_

_Mr. R. Griphook_

_Gringotts Account Manager_

Saira's mouth continued to hang open. "But why would this come on Christmas?"

Lupin looked at the box. "Looks like they just postmarked it a few days ago. It should have come yesterday, but I suppose the mail is slow thanks to the high volume."

Saira looked up, her eyes still round as the coins in her lap. "What do I do with this?"

"Put it in the bank, I'd imagine. Don't you have an account for your salary?"

"No, Dumbledore pays me monthly, and I've just been using what I need when I need it. I never thought to open an account, mostly because there's no bank in Hogsmeade."

"Well, then; you'll have to go to Diagon Alley. Ask Dumbledore what he thinks."

"Sounds like a plan. And, umm…Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Since we're done with presents, what do you say to some breakfast?"

"Oh, sure." He smiled and stood up, readying for the door.

She shook her head: no, and smiled up at the man. Her eyes traveled from him to the bed and back again. "That's _not_ what I had in mind…"


	42. In Which All Hell Strains Against Its Bo...

"At times one remains faithful to a cause only because its opponents do not cease to be insipid."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

A warning: I don't like this chapter. I really like the next one, though. This seems like a lot of "housekeeping" to me...I hope you don't hate it. Next one is more fun (and will be out within the week). :-)

* * *

Chapter 42: In Which All Hell Strains Against Its Bonds 

"Is there anything else?" Snape looked more tired than usual.

"I think we've got the defenses pretty well mapped out. Thank you for your work in this, Severus." The Headmaster rubbed the bridge of his nose. Over the Winter Break, members of The Order of the Phoenix had been hard at work developing a surveillance net for high risk areas of the Muggle world.

Snape frowned. "We require a more permanent solution."

Surveillance was only useful for as long as they were able to respond to the warnings. The frequency of the attacks was increasing and The Order's resources limited. It wouldn't be long before they would have to make hard decisions about where to allocate their defenses.

"And for that, we'll need more assistance from the Ministry," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Lupin spoke with me yesterday and he thinks he can grant us some leverage when the next contracts come up, but that's still a month away. It's good to have him taking a more active role in The Order; he's been so worried about publicity since he left teaching."

Snape stiffened but said nothing.

"Severus…I wish there could be some sort of peace between you two." There was a touch of sadness in the old wizard's voice.

"Is that all, Headmaster?" The Potions Professor had the look of someone who just remembered he had to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

"One last thing. What have you made of Trelawney's latest prediction?"

"An excellent doormat; my boots get dreadfully dirty in the winter. Anything else?"

"Severus!" The Headmaster covered his mouth with his hand, trying to suppress amusement.

A pounding at the door interrupted the two men. The corners of Dumbledore's mouth lifted up in a quirky smile. Not many people bothered to knock. Fewer still rapped on the door as though they wished to grind an axe against the wood frame that guarded his office.

Dumbledore made a practiced flick of his wrist. A creaking noise was heard, followed by the sound of footsteps padding deliberately up his stairs.

"Yes, Professor Hansen?" He didn't even wait for her to show her face.

"Hello, Headmaster, I hope you've had a good break. I've a question for you. But I can come back later, since you're busy now," her eyes darted to Snape, who stood up from his chair.

"I was just leaving. And now I have even more motivation…" he glared at her.

"Jolly good to see you, too," Saira kept a smile plastered on her face, one deliberately designed to irritate.

"Wait, Severus. I have an odd feeling…" Dumbledore's brow furrowed.

"Not that bloody babble again?" Snape grumbled.

"Just one moment," Dumbledore murmured, and turned to Saira. "What are your impressions of Professor Trelawney?"

Saira just looked at the two men, her face expressionless for several seconds. –What sort of question is this?—

"I don't believe in psychics," she finally answered, her tone flat.

"Interesting…" Dumbledore looked thoughtful. Snape looked ill. Saira looked confused. One of these situations was about to be remedied.

The Headmaster was kind enough to explain. "Sybill has been working closely with Firenze in an attempt to predict the next actions of Voldemort."

"She'd be more useful if we used her to clean out his stall…" Snape's mutter was scarcely audible, and Dumbledore continued without comment.

"Recently, she made a prediction that seems to have little to do with Voldemort, but appears to involve you."

"Um…do I get to know what it says, since it's about me?" Saira felt a little annoyed that she was the last to know she'd be the subject of a prediction. –Although, considering this is Trelawney, maybe ignorance is bliss. Is she going to predict my death _again_?— The two women had never liked each other.

"It's quite vague," Dumbledore was apologetic as he reached for a parchment on his shelves.

_Headmaster,_

_My Inner Eye has searched these troubled times for answers in the stars. It sees difficulties ahead of us, indeed._

Snape snorted, and Saira resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose in revulsion at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

_Our worries are not baseless and the Fates are not kind. The planets shy away from us. Even now, the shadows are plunging us into utmost Despair._

_And so I predict:_

"This had better be good…" Saira grumbled, her stomach slightly ill at listening to Trelawney's hocus-pocus babble.

_VENGENCE DRIVES THE DARK LORD'S CHALLENGE, ONE NOT OF OUR OWN COMES TO OUR LAND AND RISES AGAINST HIM. IN SECRET CRYPTS OF GOLD AND STONE, FORTUNE IS SIMULTANEOUSLY MADE AND UNMADE. BEWARE THE MUGGLE'S BREATH, BEWARE THE RAGE OF JULY'S CHILD._

"It's nothing a mint can't fix, and I was born in April," Saira was not impressed. In fact, she felt a bit insulted. –Muggle's breath, indeed! At least I don't drink that foul tea she's always sucking down.—

Dumbledore chuckled, not bothering to explain further. "So it doesn't mean much to you?"

"No, and it's likely as not about someone else. I'm not the only Muggle here, am I?"

Dumbledore looked considering. "What were you going to ask me?" he changed the subject.

"I just had some questions about Gringott's. I need to make a deposit soon, and was wondering how best to get there." The last time Saira had gone to Diagon Alley, Hooch had given her a ride. Saira certainly wasn't going to fly on her own, and Hooch was caught up with Quidditch related activities at the moment.

"_In secret crypts of gold and stone…"_ he repeated, raising an eyebrow at Snape. Snape looked dubious.

"Very well, my dear. The fastest way to get there is to Apparate. Severus will take you at his earliest convenience."

"He'll do what?"

"I'll do what?" They spoke simultaneously.

"Perhaps this coming Hogsmeade weekend, Severus? Unless you'd rather be on Chaperone duty for the second years?" Though the Headmaster's tone was cheerful and kindly, Saira had the feeling he was making a threat.

Snape glared at the old wizard. Dumbledore returned his gaze calmly, and there appeared to be a conversation taking place in the air. To Saira, it suddenly felt quite warm in the room.

Snape turned towards her and spoke curtly, "I have some intricate work to do, scheduled for that morning. It will take at least six hours to complete one of the potions."

"So, later in the afternoon, maybe?"

"I will be done by 10am. You will meet me at the main gate, and you won't be late. As things stand, enough of my time is going to be wasted," he stormed out, robes billowing behind him.

—Who in hell starts work at four in the morning? Oh, right: Severus Snape.— Saira shook her head and looked to Dumbledore.

"Did I do something to upset you, sir?" she asked the Headmaster.

"No, not at all. Why do you ask?" He looked concerned.

"Well, you've put quite a monkey wrench in my weekend plans. I'll have to schedule in a bottle of bourbon after that morning. Come to think of it, perhaps I should start drinking around breakfast, to make the rest of the day more pleasant…" Saira's voice trailed off as she considered her options.

And so it was that two irritated professors found themselves heading to Gringotts on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.

* * *

"'Lo, Ron. How were holidays at the Burrow?" Neville flopped onto the chair across from his dorm mate. 

"Not so bad. Good food, the usual. You?" Ron seemed distracted.

"Well, Kate visited with her mom, and that was fun. My grandmother was almost in a good mood, even," Neville looked content, and he chose that moment to take a small object out of his pocket and fiddle with it.

Ron thought he might be ill. –Neville-freaking-Longbottom is having better times with the ladies than I am. Please, gods, don't let Fred and George find out about this!— He changed the subject as smoothly as he could.

"Whatchya got there?" Ron gestured to the object.

"My lucky charm. I had it with me when Kate asked me out. I kept it during exams, and I even passed Potions. So far, so good." Neville tossed the object towards Ron, who caught it easily.

It was just a small piece of moonstone, polished and innocuous. –Still,— thought Ron, —anything that can get Neville a date, nevermind a _girlfriend_, has got to have some seriously potent luck. And I could use some luck this coming weekend.—

"Hey, Neville? Can I borrow this for a bit?" Ron felt guilty as he gave into his superstitious side.

"Well, sure. Keep it for a few weeks and see if it works for you." Instead of sounding wary, Neville seemed genuinely pleased to let Ron borrow his lucky charm.

"You don't mind?" Ron was curious. "I mean, what happens if your luck runs out without it?"

"I'm feeling pretty lucky on my own these days." Neville spoke softly and blushed.

"No kidding…" Ron grumbled. "Ah, I don't mean it like that, I mean, err—" Ron smacked his forehead, exasperated with himself.

"It's all good," Neville assured him. "I'm not offended."

"Well, **I** am!"

The two boys turned and saw Harry standing in the doorway, grinning.

"Geez, Ron, that's a pretty sore way of saying 'thank you,'" Harry continued to torment his friend.

Ron sat there hapless, his mouth open. "Errr…thanks, Neville. Really. Thanks."

"No problem. Umm, I'm going over to Ravenclaw for a bit…cover for me if McGonagall swings around?" Neville didn't wait for an answer, just slipped out of the room with a smile on his face.

"He's totally shnoggered by that girl," Ron groaned.

"Yeah. Lucky bastard," Harry agreed. "What did he give you?"

"Ah, nothing much. Just a cool rock," Ron was suddenly embarrassed by his superstitions. "Say, Harry? How about a game of chess?"

Harry winced. It was hard to start the semester on the note of utter defeat, but he figured Ron was as nervous as he about the upcoming trip to Gringotts. And so he acquiesced, and was, sure enough, quickly and repetitively beaten.

* * *

"So he's got the rock, homing signal and all?" Kate was smiling. "Just like that, really?" 

"Yeah, it was easy. I think they underestimate me…" Neville looked thoughtful.

"Good for us, then," Kate was pragmatic. "And now that we've got Apparating together down pretty well…well, we'll see. Any idea when they're going to go?"

"Soon, I think. Ron is all wound up and Harry seems distracted. The problem is going to be knowing when to follow."

Kate and Neville had talked through their plans many times over break. They both were worried they might inadvertently Apparate into the crypts too early or too late. Timing was going to be an issue.

"Pansy thinks that if we aim towards a little after 10:30 it should be okay. Harry went in at 10:14 like clockwork every time she followed him. That gives them some time to reach the crypts."

"But only if there's no wait for the carts," Neville reminded her.

"Yeah. There's that," Kate acknowledged. "We'll just have to play things by ear and see what feels right. I'd rather go a little later, myself."

"And then we have to face whatever guards those crypts," Neville added. He felt a cold pit forming in his stomach. Their plan had sounded great when it was in its infancy, but now that they were actually about to execute it, he felt uncertain. There were too many "what ifs," and too much room for things to go horribly wrong.

But he had promised Kate he'd be there with her. He squared his shoulders and swallowed against the lump in his throat. And, as he found himself doing more often lately, he thought of his parents. _They_ hadn't allowed fear to stop them. And though it had taken his grandmother years of repeating how brave they had been, it was only last year that he'd actually been proud of them. And so he went along with Kate and her friends just as he'd helped Dumbledore's Army, hoping he'd have the chance to strike back at the wizard responsible for their fate.


	43. Overlap

Ok, yeah. This really should be finished. Even though it's AU and then some.

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Chapter 43: Overlap

"You can do more with a kind word and a gun than with just a kind word." -- Al Capone

--------------

Given the option to be Anyone Else in the Wizarding World today, Harry would have signed up. Even if that Anyone Else was a house elf. Even if that Anyone Else was a _Malfoy's_ house elf.

Such was his underwhelming joy at, in fact, remaining Harry Potter, that the young man neglected to eat any of the food in front of him.

"Hey, now--you want that or not?" Ron looked hopeful.

"It's not like they starve us here; why not get more of your own?" Harry groused.

"I hate to see good food go to waste. Besides, you never know if you'll live to see your next meal, eh? Pass 'er here!" Without waiting for a response, Ron reached across and commandered his friend's plate. Harry blanched, but offered no resistance.

"It's going to be okay." Hermione spoke softly.

Both boys looked up. Her assurance was a new development; prior to this morning, Hermione had been edgy, jittery even. And seeing her operating under conditions like that had made them both a little more nervous.

"You figured it out?" Ron spoke with his mouth full.

Hermione smiled. "I hope so. If not, well...we'll have to think of something else."

"Like whether we should put ketchup or mustard in our pockets, seeing as how we'll be dragon food?" Ron offered.

"Ron!" Harry put his hand to his face and scowled.

"Just playing," Ron looked a bit put out. "Look, Harry, we're all worried about this. We're just worried in our own ways is all." As he spoke, Ron shoved his hand in his pocket, absentmindedly fingering the lucky charm Neville had given him.

"Now is not the time for you to discover your talents as a philosopher, chum," Harry still looked grim. "If you don't get to the right vault, or if something gets you first, or if you can't get through the lock, or if Hermione can't deal with the treasure, or if you can't get out afterwards..."

"Like the man said, Harry--ketchup or mustard?" Hermione bit back a smile.

----

"What do you think, Neville?" Kate peered intently at the map of the homing signal, which showed the location of Ron, and hopefully Harry and Hermione.

"Well, they look like they're about to leave Hogwarts. And it's the right time, judging by past weeks. And seeing as how Ron is going, too, and likely Hermione because we haven't seen her around...yes. I think they're going to try something today. And I guess that means we're going to try something, too."

"That's all well and good," sniped Pansy, "but are you absolutely certain you're comfortable apparating? I don't want to be looking for missing parts of you over the next few hundred years. Some parts even less so than others."

Kate shot Pansy a most un-Ravenclawlike glare. In fact, if the Sorting Hat had been anywhere near the young lady, it might have seriously reconsidered her house assignment, given the list of curses going through her head.

"Was that really necessary, Pansy?" Kate was still gritting her teeth. "We're all going to need to back each other up once we're in there. You aren't about to go all Slytherin on us, are you?"

"And what Exactly do you mean by that?" There was a coldness to Pansy's voice, a certain edge that rarely colored her biting comments.

Kate looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, you know us Slytherins..." Pansy's voice trailed off. "Can't be trusted. Everyone of us a Voldemort in the making. Certainly no ambitions of our own, all just blind servants to The Dark Lord."

"Look, I'm really, really sorry," Kate emphasized.

Pansy glowered, fingering her wand thoughtfully. She didn't look terribly appeased.

"None of us think that about you," Neville started, but Padma cut him off before he could say something inadvertently foolish.

"You're smarter than any Death Eater," was her coolly delivered appraisal.

The Ravenclaw and Slytherin met each other's eyes, and the unspoken exchange between the two of them traveled through years of house politics. Padma, having complimented intellect, the highest praise a Ravenclaw could give, had shown Pansy the respect and deference her Slytherin pride sought. With that, Pansy's anger refocused to their shared goal. As much as she loathed the moments when people assumed the worst of Slytherins, she channeled yet more rage at the source of their prejudice. And Voldemort, she'd decided long ago, was going to pay.

----

"Oh, for the love!" Saira stopped short of full blown profanity as she watched yet another staircase swing away from her. At this rate, she was definitely going to be late for the meeting with Snape, which probably meant the slimy git would find a way out of taking her to Gringotts. And, as she definitely didn't want to keep a virtual pirate's chest of coins sitting in her room, she pressed on, making yet another harrowing leap as a staircase swung near her.

She missed. Well, that's not entirely true. One hand landed somewhere in the proximity of a banister and remained there for a good few seconds before it, and the rest of her, tumbled through the air.

"OOOPH!" She landed hard, a good 10 feet lower than she'd intended.

"Still learning to use the new legs, Hansen?" Snape was allowing the thinnest trace of a smile to creep across his face.

"So help me, Severus, one of these days I will consign you and those bloody stairs to the same fate."

"It appears as though both of us have, as of yet, the upper hand," came the droll reply.

Saira bit back the long string of curses that filled her mouth; the force required to do so could have just as easily moved mountains. Her dealings with Snape reinforced her status as an outsider in the world of magic. Also, they brought up serious considerations of further physical violence, but she thought those particular feelings were best left unexplored at present. -Oh, but I am sorely tempted.- she fumed. Saira settled for shoving her hands into the pockets of the robes she was wearing, half out of habit and half to avoid the temptation of raising either of her middle fingers in the not-so-general direction of Snape. She frowned as her hand brushed against a flask she'd long forgotten.

Snape smirked to himself, convinced the frown was due to Saira's inability to come up with any appropriately scathing remark.

"Well," he muttered, "Are you ready?"


End file.
